


Pigtails

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Archie Comics
Genre: Angst, Archie is too, F/M, Veronica is a jerk, fluffy fluffy flufferness, more Beggie than you can shake a stick at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 110,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reggie’s the class clown and neighborhood menace. Betty is the good girl he loves to torture. What happens once they grow up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Betty was so intent on tying her spare scarf around the neck of her snow woman that she didn’t hear the whistling rush of air behind her soon enough to move.

The mound of wet, cold snow crystals exploded against her temple, sending blobs of it down her jacket collar. “GAH! OH! YUCK!” She scrubbed at the sting with her mitten, trying to clean off her cheek. She removed her hat and shook out the offending snow that crept under the band.

“Now you won’t need a shampoo!” crowed a familiar, hated voice behind her. Betty spun around and glared into Reggie Mantle’s leering face. 

“You creep!” He rocked back on his heels and clapped, chortling entirely at her expense. “That wasn’t funny!”

“Awwwww, whatsamatter, is lil’ Betty gonna cryyyyeeeee?”

“No,” she snapped, tugging her hair back beneath her wool knit cap that her mother made. Her expression was indignant. “You’re a jerk, Reggie Mantle!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out!” He sneered at her masterpiece. “Nice snowman.”

“It’s a snow _woman_ ,” she sniffed.

“She’s awful flat,” he accused.

“REGGIE! That’s so gross!”

“She needs boobs,” he added, bending to roll another mound of snow into a tightly packed ball.

“Don’t you dare!” Betty was already backing away, not wanting to get hit again. Reggie’s snowballs hurt.

But he took aim at a different target, winging a large missile at Betty’s sculpture. “NO!” It hit its midsection dead on, exploding against it and taking out a chunk of snow instead. “DON’T!” Betty attempted to defend it, bending to gather up some snow, but her mittens made it difficult. Reggie was wearing a pair of ski gloves that looked expensive and that made his job easier. He was already packing another perfect ball from some crusty old snow beneath a large fir tree, studded with acorns and twigs. His laugh was nasty and smug.

“Heh, heh, heh, heh!” He put sinister emphasis on it, like his favorite cartoon villains. Betty despised him, but never more than right now. She flung her wobbly snowball at him, but it deteriorated mid-flight because it was too soft. 

“Oh, I’m so scared!” he claimed before hurling his own snowball at her snow woman again. It shuddered from the impact and the pebbles Betty used for eyes fell off.

“Leave it alone! Get out of here, Reggie!” She ran at him, and this time he stood his ground, waiting til she came within a few feet of him.

Her face was red with anger and her blue eyes shone with the beginnings of tears. He relished that look, signaling he’d gotten a rise out of her. He lived for it.

Betty Cooper was just too easy.

She was also relatively quick. He backpedaled, whooping and taunting the whole way. “Uh-oh, too slow!”

“I’ll get you,” she huffed, bending to scoop up another lump of hardened snow. She flung it at his retreating back and only managed to hit the back of his jacket. He hardly felt it, and he turned around to stick out his tongue. Frustration reddened her cheeks. She continued to chase him around the field, and he darted around in a broad circle, then zig-zagged just a few paces ahead of her to throw her off and wear her out.

“Nice outfit on your snow woman,” he added, running back to the crumbling sculpture. He tugged off the half-knotted scarf, doing the final damage of knocking her head off. Betty shrieked.

“REGGIE!” He held it up in triumph.

“Oops!”

“GIVE THAT BACK!”

“Finders, keepers!” He resumed his flight, running off with it. This time she picked up her speed, pounding through the snow in her heavy galoshes. She caught the end of her scarf, almost tearing out the fringes, but it pulled her closer to him, and he was begging for a pounding when she got her hands on him.

“Give it BACK! I’ll tell your mom!”

“Go ahead,” he scoffed, even though his grin faltered when she tried to jerk the scarf from his hands.

“You’re stretching it! You’ll ruin it!”

They engaged in a tug of war, and Betty gave a surprisingly impressive struggle.

“Fine, here, cry baby!” He let go of the end of the scarf, and Betty’s momentum carried her backward. She landed on her bottom, and the cold snow seeped all the way through her layers of corduroy slacks and winter stockings. “Ha, haaaaah!”

“I HATE YOU, REGGIE MANTLE!”

He huffed. “So?” He stood over her with his hands on his hips, leering at her with laughing brown eyes. “I don’t care.”

“You should care,” she snapped as she struggled to get up.

“Why should I care what a cry baby like you thinks? Cry baby. Poor Wetty Betty,” he added, seeing the damp spots on her pants. He followed her to the edge of the field. “Aw, c’mon, gonna run away?” He made his voice into a girlish croon. “Gonna run and tell your mommyyyyyy?”

She got on her bike and decided not to look back. Betty rode off, and his taunts were snatched out of the air by a strong wind. Her damp scarf tails whipped out behind her.

“I’m not a cry baby,” she muttered to herself, but a tear tracked down her cheek, leaving her flesh chilled. “Stupid Reggie.”

He watched her go, not sorry in the least, but then he realized he was all alone in the field. 

It wasn’t any fun playing by himself. He needed someone to hang out with and decided to go heckle Archie and Jug for a while.

But the sight of her anguished face and the echo of her words stayed with him.

*

 

Betty skidded to a halt in her driveway and promptly shoved her bike inside the garage, closing the door with a slam. Her mother waited by the front door for her, standing just inside the screen.

“That sounded awfully harsh.”

“Sorry,” she muttered pitifully.

“Awfully long face, too,” she offered, stepping back as she let her daughter inside. Alice noticed the suspicious red mark across her cheek and the sodden state of her clothes. “Were you rolling down a hill? Why are you so wet?”

“I got into a fight,” she admitted as she hung her scarf on one of the pegs of the coat rack.

“Uh-uh. Let’s take that to the kitchen. Leave your boots on the mat.” Betty obeyed and ran to the kitchen in her stocking feet. Alice turned her oven on low and let the door hang open while Betty hung her jacket and scarf over a chair to let them dry. She added her hat and mittens to the pile and sat down while her mother poured her some milk. She also set out a small dish of Oreos, sensing a treat was in order.

“You never let me have cookies before lunch,” she pointed out, but she unscrewed one cookie and licked the center.

“Sometimes we women need thinking food. So what’s new, kiddo? What’s on your mind?”

“Awww…my snow woman got knocked down.”

“Oh, no!”

“I hate Reggie Mantle!”

“Oh, Betty, hate is such a strong word. We don’t hate people. It’s okay to dislike someone.”

“I can’t stand him!” Betty insisted, dunking her cookie disconsolately in the milk. “He always acts mean to me, and I didn’t even do anything!”

“He’s a boy. Trust me, at your age, Betty, boys aren’t very nice. They just don’t know any better when they’re around girls.”

“Why not?”

“Sometimes they love to show off.”

“Hmmph…” she grumbled. “That’s all he does. He always pops wheelies on his bike whenever Ronnie shows up. He and Archie are always having spitting contests and the one where they find out who can burp the loudest. Or fart.”

“Goodness,” Alice chuckled, appalled.

“He always pulls my hair and trips me and steals my snack from my desk. He pretends to pick his nose and wipe it on me in the lunch line and tries to cut. He’s a jerk!”

“Sounds like he’s trying pretty hard to get your attention.”

“I don’t want his attention,” she griped. Alice ate one last cookie herself and headed to the stove. She warmed up a can of tomato soup and made tuna sandwiches on toast.

“Sometimes boys don’t know how to talk about what’s on their minds. Girls are better at that. Boys love to play rough and show off with each other, and they don’t always know how to stop acting like that around little girls.”

“He threw snowballs at me.”

“Did you get to throw some back?”

“I tried. I’m no good at snowballs.”

“It takes a good, hard pack. You’ve really got to get a lot of snow and smush it together so it really sticks. Get some of the snow that’s kind of hard, too. If it’s too powdery, it doesn’t work. My brothers taught me that when I was a kid.”

“Wow,” Betty said. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s the stuff that’s good to know. And they were boys. They’re experts on snowballs and other sneaky stuff.”

Even as Alice reassured her daughter, there were times when she didn’t miss being seven years old.


	2. Can't Hang?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing in the world is crueler than middle school, except summer break.

Author’s Note: I was never a popular girl in school, so I know a little of what Betty is going through – what I’m putting her through. Call me evil…muahahahaha. But yeah, I got into trouble fighting with different “Reggies” every day on the playground from grades K thru six.

 

**_Five years later:_ **

 

“Put on that Britney Spears CD next,” Ronnie demanded imperiously. “And could you get my back?”

“Okay.”

“Wait, let me undo this first.” Ronnie laid on her stomach and undid the back of her red and white striped bikini top. Betty dutifully uncapped the sunscreen and squirted a generous handful into her palm. “Brrr, that’s cold!” Ronnie complained as she smoothed some on her upper back.

“Could you do me next?”

“When I’m ready to flip over. Not now, Betty.” Betty suppressed a sigh; her skin was more sensitive than Veronica’s, so it wouldn’t have killed her to get her back before she lay down. Betty opted instead to put her blue tank top back on over her suit, even though the sun had felt good on her bare skin.

It was a nice day to be at the lake. Betty almost regretted that school started in another two weeks, but she was excited to start seventh grade. Her stomach had a million butterflies in it the day they’d taken a field trip to Riverdale Junior High for the tour and orientation. Betty practically had the class schedule they’d sent in the mail memorized. Ronnie had already grilled her to death about what to wear the first day, nagging Betty for her opinion and then throwing aside all of her suggestions. If previous years were any indication, Betty would likely endure the same ordeal the night before the first day of school. It didn’t really matter what Veronica picked out, anyway. She wouldn’t go to school looking like anyone else. Her parents had taken her on vacation to Paris earlier that summer, and her mother shipped home boxes of clothes from all of the best boutiques for herself and her daughter. Betty was less jealous of the clothes and wished that she’d had the chance to see Paris itself and hear the locals speak real French.

Veronica didn’t even bring her back a tee shirt.

Betty reached into her mini cooler and pulled out a can of Coke, wiping down the top with the edge of her towel.

No sooner than she’d taken a sip than she heard a rushing of feet behind her.

“BOOGABOOGABOOGA!” The sudden, raucous voices shocked her into exhaling the fizzy soda through her nose, squirting it out over her upper lip. It burned! Betty sputtered and looked up in annoyance at Reggie as he jumped into her line of vision.

“HAHA! Scared you! Betty’s a lil’ scaredy cat!” Behind him, Archie and Jughead were smirking and elbowing each other. Ronnie was glaring up at them from her stomach, trying her best not to lean up too high. She struggled to get a hold of the straps of her suit that tied around her neck.

“You should’ve seen the look on your faces,” Archie added, grinning as he peered down at Veronica. Betty was indignant that he wasn’t looking at her, mentally blaming her modest little tank top and suit.

“Creeps,” Betty muttered as she rescued her soda.

“Whatsamatter, Betty? You cold?” Reggie jeered. He, unfortunately, noticed what she was wearing, and she wished he hadn’t. “Can’t you see the sun’s shining? Whoo,” he added, fanning himself for emphasis.

“What do you care?” she shot back. “It’s none of your business what I have on, Reggie.”

“Poor widdle baby doesn’t want anyone to see her in her suuuuuit,” he continued. He held up his hand to his hair and set his other on his hip, feigning a fashion model pose. “Look at me, I’m Betty, I’m so shy and ladylike, oh! Don’t LOOK at me!”

“Stop it, Reg!”

“She doesn’t talk like that,” Ronnie giggled. “So what if she doesn’t want to show off?”

Ronnie was secretly glad, since it gave her all the attention. But she continued to fumble with the straps of her suit.

Reggie picked that moment to shift his target. Ronnie was making it too easy.

He ran at her and kicked up the loose sand, coming perilously close to her face.

“OH! ACK!” Instinctively she jumped back and scooted away, but not before giving everyone nearby an eyeful. Reggie took the opportunity to snatch up her suit top from her damp beach towel and dart away.

“BETTY!” she shrieked.

“Don’t just stand there, help me!” Betty snapped at Archie and Jug, who were agog at what happened. Archie kept shooting looks at Veronica, who had her arms hugged tightly around her chest to protect her modesty.

The memory of her thirty-two A’s was emblazoned on his memory, flesh two shades lighter than the rest of her except for medium pink, stiff little nipples. If he didn’t live to see his teen years, Archie Andrews could still die a happy man…

“Jerks!” Betty hissed as she got up and ran after Reggie, who was already taunting her from the lake’s edge. She chased him, and he led her to the pier. His footsteps were quick, thudding loudly over the planks.

“GIVE THAT BACK! REGGIE, YOU CREEP!”

“Finders keepers, losers weepers!” She was hot on his tail, making his pulse speed up as her footfalls closed in on him. Betty was the second fastest girl in gym class, slower only than Big Ethel. Reggie confidently spun around and planted his feet broadly.

“Nyahhhh!” he teased, sticking his thumbs in his ears and waggling his fingers like antlers while he stuck out his tongue. The suit top was still clenched in his fist. He feinted out of her way each time she made a grab for it.

Betty learned from previous mistakes. Somewhat.

She reached out and lunged for his side, jabbing him in the waist.

“OOF!”

“GIMME!” He brought his arm down to protect himself, and she grabbed the dangling straps of the suit.

He recovered and resumed ownership, tugging on it with both hands.

“LEGGO!”

“Make him give it back, Betty!” Ronnie demanded from the lakefront. She was decent again after finagling Archie’s tee shirt from him, but she wanted her top back. Archie stood back shirtless and amused until the momentum shifted.

He recognized the look on Reggie’s face, because he’d been on the other end of it before. Archie’s blue eyes widened.

“Let go!”

“What are you telling her that for?” Ronnie snapped.

“BETS, LET GO!” Archie cried more loudly, cupping his hand around his mouth.

“Uh-oh,” Jug muttered as he took a sip of Betty’s abandoned Coke. He watched the scene unfold with a sense of resignation. He didn’t feel like getting up and chasing anybody, but he almost felt badly for Betty. Reggie _was_ a creep.

And too late, just like that, Betty realized her error.

There was an ugly gleam in Reggie’s brown eyes…

“Fine, you can have it!”

Once again, her momentum carried her backward. She stumbled back one, two, three steps and mentally cursed _Oh, shit!_ as her feet left the pier. She was airborne for two helpless seconds, suit top clenched in her fist.

The water was unrelentingly cold. Her splash was large and loud from Veronica’s vantage point from the shore. Betty’s heart was pounding out of shock and humiliation.

She wanted to kill Reggie. Not just smack him around. _Kill him._ Slowly. With power tools and kitchen appliances.

She sputtered as she came up for breath. She heard Reggie’s laughter first. He was doubled over and pointing at her. “I can’t believe you did it again! You fell for it! Nice!”

Betty had enough. “Leave me alone.” She began to swim for the shore, still clutching the top.

“Aw, c’mon, Betty, climb back up here.”

“No.” She stubbornly breast-stroked alongside the pier.

“You ran all the way out here; you don’t have to swim back,” he insisted. His voice had lost some of its smugness. Betty refused to look up at him.

“Drop dead.” She reached the shallows and slogged her way back to shore, looking thoroughly miffed. She handed Ronnie her dripping top, which she took back gingerly, as though it was somehow unsavory to touch after its journey. “Here’s your top.”

“Your shirt’s all wet.”

“So? I’m all wet, Ron, news flash.”

“You don’t have to be snippy about it!” Betty gave her a sour look and grabbed up her shorts. “Betty, what’re you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“You can’t go yet!” Ronnie was aghast, as though the past ten minutes had no impact on her reasoning. Betty being mad at Reggie at the Lake + Reggie being a jerk = Betty packing up her shit and going home.

“Why?” Archie asked.

“You know why,” Betty insisted. 

A tiny voice inside her beseeched Archie, Tell me why I should stay. Betty continued to put her sandals back on and hopped into her shorts, the effort made more difficult by her wet suit.

“Got anything besides Coke?” Jug asked, burping slightly as he gulped down the last of the can. Betty tsked.

“Not much. You can have it. I’m taking the cooler.” He scrambled to grab the small hero sandwich and bag of grapes.

“You’re supposed to be coming back to my house!” Ronnie reminded her.

“Some other time.” Reggie joined them again, treating them all to his patented crooked smile. His brows beetled together incredulously, an expression only he could manage.

“Can’t hang, huh?”

“Not with you,” Betty huffed. 

“G’wan, then, get outta here!” he jeered half-heartedly. “Shirt’s all wet.”

“Gee, wonder why.” Betty was already astride her bike, half-walking it to the path. She focused on ignoring him.

She didn’t notice Reggie focusing on her retreating back. He could see the outline of straps of her racerback one-piece in stark relief beneath her wet shirt. The blue cotton clung to her less than modestly. The light wind that whipped up chilled her, too, raising goosebumps on her skin and making her chest “stand at attention.”

It wasn’t the first time Reggie noticed that Betty and Veronica were built almost the same; sometimes they shared clothes, he knew that much. She wasn’t badly built.

But he’d never tell her that. It was too much fun to rile her.

“Maybe you should take it off,” he called after her.

“You wish,” she replied over her shoulder. She didn’t look back, pedaling fully now. The wind whipped her damp blonde hair out behind her, promising to dry it by the time she got home.

“You don’t have anything we need to see anyway, I guess,” he answered back. She didn’t so much as shrug. Reggie gloated over having the last word.

Until Ronnie spoke up.

“You’re mean,” Ronnie sniffed. She walked over to Jughead and gave him a light kick where he sat. “And you’re a pig!”

He belched. “Thanks!”

Archie continued to stare after Betty even after she was gone. _Shouldn’t someone go after her?_ The thought nagged at him.

Betty would have played Marco Polo with them if he’d suggested it. She also would have lent him some sunscreen; she burned as badly as he did, if memory served. Betty shared everything with anyone who asked. It was like she kept a convenience store in her backpack. Gum, pencils, cough drops, Kleenex, Motrin, Band-Aids. If you needed it, Betty had it.

“You didn’t have to pick on her,” Archie muttered lamely to Reggie. 

“So? You laughed when I scared her,” he pointed out, nonplussed. “What’s the big deal?” 

But Archie and Veronica were giving him irritated looks that told him that he’d pushed things too far.

“Too bad she didn’t pack another sandwich. This one was pretty good.” Jughead balled up the empty grape bag and sandwich plastic together and pitched it into a metal trash barrel.

“Sheesh,” Archie muttered, slightly disgusted with his best friend’s one-track mind. Another thought occurred to him. “Can I have my shirt back?”

“No. What do you think? I’m not just going to change in front of you boys!” Especially not without Betty, who would have at least shielded her from them while she tried to work herself back into her suit top.

“We already saw what you got,” Reggie said slyly. He winked. Ronnie grimaced.

“You ARE a creep, Reggie Mantle.” Ronnie turned to Archie and eyeballed him. “You’re already getting burned.”

Archie shrugged. “So?”

“Here.” She picked up Betty’s abandoned sunscreen and motioned for him to turn around. “Let me get your back.”

Reggie burned with jealousy as he retreated to the nearby rope hanging from a tall oak. He made mad runs at it, swinging out over the placid water with loud whoops. Eventually he fought over each turn with Jughead, who’d waited his requisite half hour after eating to join him.

But Veronica pretended not to notice. She just giggled while Archie criticized her pile of “chick music” CDs, some of which were Betty’s. She joined in on making fun of them, squashing down the niggling guilt that she was trash-talking about her best friend.

*

Back at home, Betty laid out on her parents’ back porch on a lawn chaise, freshly showered and wearing her bathing suit again, even though it still smelled like lake water, but at least it was dry. She borrowed her mother’s sunscreen this time and slathered what parts of herself that she could reach. A peanut butter sandwich sat on a plate beside her on the tiny TV tray she brought out with her. Her MP3 was plugged into her ears and her foot tapped to the music. Betty munched on a cheese curl and licked the orange paste from her fingers, glad no one was watching her.

She’d get a mild tan without the nuisance of Reggie Mantle, and without having to play shining knight to her best friend. Betty kept the handset to the phone beside her, too, in case Ethel or Nancy called her back and wanted to come over.

Reggie ruined everything. It never failed.

He pulled her braids all the time. Betty took to wearing her single ponytail by the middle of fifth grade, which was less encouraging, and, Betty was pleased to find, made her face look older.

 _You don’t have anything we need to see anyway, I guess._ That had hurt. She felt the impending prick of tears but refused to let him see them. Betty glimpsed down at her body briefly. There was nothing wrong with it. Her tummy was pleasingly flat. Her navel was an inny, nothing unusual about that. Her breasts weren’t particularly fantastic – yet – but she outgrew her training bra a year ago. She could claim to have more than mosquito bites, thank you very much. Her silhouette in her jeans announced to the world that she had the beginnings of hips. It wasn’t bad to be Betty Cooper. Not at all.

She guessed Veronica had what they wanted to see. Betty took savage satisfaction in hindsight that they saw it, but not in the fashion that Ronnie would have preferred. _Betty_ wasn’t the one who lost her top. Betty almost heard her mother’s reasoning in her head: _What twelve year old girl needs an all over tan? Who would even see it???_ It was her same argument for why she didn’t understand Betty’s need for bikini panties or a bra with a bow in the middle. Betty couldn’t appreciate that she would probably agree with her mother in twenty years.

Dimly Betty heard what sounded like the doorbell. “Hm?” She unplugged one of her ear buds and listened again.

Someone was ringing it like they’re life depended on it. Her mother wasn’t home yet, so that left Betty to answer the door. She decided not to run down the driveway to meet them from outside; she didn’t want the whole neighborhood to see her running out in just her suit into the front yard. Betty grabbed a beach towel on her way inside from the laundry alcove and wrapped it around herself like a sarong.

“I’m COMING!” she called out. The ringing stopped just short of her reaching the door. She could have sworn she heard footsteps trotting down her front porch steps. “Who is it?”

No reply. “Who’s there?” she said, almost not wanting to open the door to someone who didn’t announce themselves.

She peered out the side window, nudging back the curtains. She couldn’t see anyone from that angle.

She decided she would keep the front screen door locked. Betty tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and opened the door.

The porch was empty. Incredulous, Betty opened up the screen door and stepped out onto the porch, looking both ways up and down her street.

“What the heck?” 

She caught herself as she almost tripped over something.

Her mini cooler.


	3. Third Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids are settled into school. If memory serves, junior high sucks.

Author’s Note: Seriously. I don’t miss being a teenager, with the mere exception of having a faster metabolism and more hair. And truthfully, I was more of an Ethel. I’m just sayin’…

 

**One year later:**

Betty checked her day planner while she rummaged through her locker.

 _Yahoo. Home ec._ Life was good.

Every day of the week, the schedule rotated so that she had a different fine art elective during third period. Cooking and sewing were definitely her niche. To her credit, Betty was well-rounded and also enjoyed wood and metal shop, too, but she really felt she could show off in the kitchen.

It felt good to be in eighth grade and to be in the top class on campus instead of a newbie like she had last year. The first two weeks of school, she laughed to herself as she watched the seventh graders walking around looking confused and like deer caught in the headlights as they tried to find their classes. She didn’t miss that.

Reggie, true to form, had been a jerk, giving them all wrong directions so they ended up in the gym when they were supposed to be in Flutesnoot’s science class. Sometimes he’d follow them just to see the looks on their faces when they got there. Betty accused him of having too much time on his hands. Reggie retaliated by dropping a frog’s eyeball down the back of her shirt in biology lab. He laughed as she practically did a little, frantic dance trying to shake the tiny, clammy thing loose.

Betty’s cheeks burned at the memory. She wanted so much to smack him.

The bell rang, and Betty zipped her English text into her backpack. She no sooner turned around then Veronica suddenly appeared, snatching her by the arm and dragging her backward.

“Ron, what-“

“Bathroom. Now.” Betty recognized her urgent tone and mentally sighed.

“What’s up? What do you need?”

“Reach into your magic bag and get me some feminine protection. Stat.”

“Ah.” Betty nodded and suppressed a smile. Ronnie looked around furtively once they stood in front of the sinks while Betty dug in her purse. She produced a pink, plastic wrapped item and tucked it into Ronnie’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you!” Ronnie gave her a brief, hard hug and then dashed into the stall, slamming it shut. She continued the conversation with the door between them. “What do you have next?”

“Home ec.”

“Sweet. The sewing part or cooking?”

“Cooking. I’m stoked. That’s the easy part.”

“Not for me. I suck at it.” Ronnie had gotten a D on the biscuit assignment when they came out hard as rocks. “I don’t mind sewing, but cutting out the patterns is so _boring._ I doubt I’ll ever do anything with it, anyway.”

“It’s good if you ever want to do some repairs or make something special.” Betty heard Ronnie snort with disdain through the cubicle door.

“As if. My mom’s seamstress can make me whatever I want.”

“So what if you break a zipper or tear out a hem by accident?”

“So? I get a new pair of pants or a new skirt. What’s the big deal?”

 _They cost money._ Betty left that thought unspoken. “It’s just good to know,” she emphasized, mentally cursing herself for sounding like her mother. “I just enjoy it, that’s all.”

“Lucky you,” Ronnie remarked while she made faces at herself in the mirror. She tugged her lower eyelid down and applied black eyeliner she didn’t need, since her eyes were already large and her lashes already dark and long. Veronica was a makeup fanatic. “What’re you doing after school?”

“Drama club.”

“Lame,” Ronnie muttered.

“No it’s not,” Betty protested. Even though she hadn’t been given a lead, Betty still enjoyed working on the set construction and costumes. It was also a welcome distraction from her telephone, which seemed like it had cobwebs growing on it. No boys ever called her, least of all Archie. So Betty immersed herself in her school work and extracurriculars, needing something to fill the gap. “You still have to come see the play, anyway, when we do it.”

“Pfft,” Ronnie hissed, but she smiled when Betty playfully bumped her shoulder with hers.

“Because you love me,” she cajoled.

“Yes I do, you big crybaby,” Ronnie conceded. “I’ll go!”

“You could sell refreshments with me on opening night.”

“As if!”

Of course she wouldn’t, but Betty had to throw it out there.

The bell rang again, and Veronica crammed her makeup back into her purse. “Shit! Late!”

“I’m just across the hall. Why did you use the bathroom all the way at this end?”

“I was talking to Archiekins.” Veronica grinned smugly as she walked Betty out the door. “He would have gotten lost. Or lonely.”

“Sure he would’ve,” Betty grumbled. “Hmmph…”

“Hey, call me after school,” Ronnie added suddenly. 

“Why?”

“Why? What do you mean, why???? So you can bask in my greatness,” Ronnie insisted, giving her a haughty look. Betty brandished her one-subject home ec notebook, pretending to smack Veronica in the butt. She wiggled free from her shallow threat. “Call me!”

“Okay!” The assistant principal caught their eye and pointed to his watch, shooing them away.

Betty wished Archie was in the same section of fine arts, but he had it fifth period instead. She entered the classroom and automatically set her notebook and purse on her desk, tucking her backpack under her seat. She pretended to ignore Reggie, Moose and Frankie talking smack in the corner. Betty noticed with dismay that Nancy’s desk was empty, meaning that she didn’t have a partner. She didn’t mind cooking alone, but no one else was as good a cook. Betty wanted to get an A on her project, so that meant not getting paired up with someone who didn’t know a tablespoon from a cup.

“Have you seen Nancy?” Jughead looked up from a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comic he had tucked inside his history text, slightly startled. 

“No. Why?”

“Just wondering. She’s my partner.”

“Chuck’s not here today, either.”

 _Coincidence?_ Betty considered the possibilities. Nancy and Chuck weren’t the types to play hooky, especially since Nancy’s mom was, as she so eloquently put it, “one of those shoe-throwing mothers who’d just as soon snatch you baldheaded if you rolled or cut your eyes.”

Betty sighed. “This sucks.”

“So? You’ll get another partner. You could be mine, if you wanted to.”

“Yeah, right.”

“What? I’m a good partner. I’ll help you clean up,” he reasoned.

“Clean your plate,” she shot back, tsking and shaking her blonde head. It was true. Jughead was her scraps disposal, constantly looking to polish off the leftovers of her class projects once they were tasted and graded. Croutons, biscuits, dumplings, it didn’t matter; Jughead was always there over her shoulder, long skinny fingers sneaking into her pan at every opportunity or filching from her plastic take-home bag.

But at the very least, he stopped being such a jerk and started talking to her as a human being. The way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach, if having Jughead’s heart meant having him offer her actual words instead of well-timed burps and farts in her general direction. Once in a while, Jughead frequented her lunch table with her narrow circle of friends that included Nancy, Midge, Ronnie, Ethel and Maria, and more recently, Sabrina, who was always very nice despite rumors around the school that she lived with her two freaky aunts who talked to their cat like he was a grown man. Jughead was best friends with Archie, true, but Archie had a long-standing “best frenemy” bond with Reggie Mantle that made Betty wrack her brain. 

How could he stand Reggie? It was like putting two beta fish in the same tank.

Jughead professed not to be interested in any of the girls they knew, yet he hung out with them often enough, more than likely when Reggie was holding court at the guy’s table with all the jocks. Archie and Reggie were neck and neck every season, in every sport for MVP.

Betty sighed. In a sense, Jughead was one of the only boys who gave her the time of day. Lucky her.

“C’mon, Bets! Don’t leave me hangin’!”

“I’m not. You already have a partner.” Jug made a sound of disgust.

“Dilt’s a whole heck of a lot better with test tubes than he is with measuring cups.”

“So help him. You know how to cook,” she accused.

“I don’t want to go through all the effort. It’s too much work when you can do it instead,” Jug shrugged, grinning. Betty grabbed a dish towel, rat-tailed it, and watched him dart out of the way as she flicked it at him.

It was an injustice that he could eat so much and never gain a pound. Betty still had a healthy metabolism, but she noticed that despite playing various sports, including basketball, softball and volleyball, she was gaining curves she didn’t have before. She migrated up from a three to a five that fall when her jeans suddenly hugged her burgeoning hips too snugly. It made her self-conscious when she eyed her reflection in the mirror, doing the tell-tale turn and looking over her shoulder at her backside every morning.

All of the chatter in the room suddenly ceased when Miss Haggly clumped into the room in her homely sky blue crocs and beige cardigan. Her gray eyes scanned the class and squinted in annoyance. “Back in your SEATS!” she barked like a drill sergeant. There was a scrambling of feet and scraping of chairs as they complied.

“I don’t want any _nonsense,_ ” she snapped. “I run a tight ship. I don’t care what you’re used to from your regular teacher. With me, you’ll learn how to _cook._ You,” she gestured imperiously, flicking her bony finger toward Reggie, “pass out the recipe. Hop to it!” 

Betty had never seen Reggie move that fast and she suppressed a snicker. Miss Haggly paused in her large, noisy scrawl across the chalkboard and shot her a look. Betty straightened up. “Something funny?”

“Not that funny,” she confessed. Her stomach jumped slightly.

“I like a joke as much as the next person,” she suggested, voice flinty. She gave Betty a more knowing look. Betty shook her head.

“It’s nothing.”

“Good. So why don’t you save ‘nothing’ for after class? Do you mind if I show the class how to make cinnamon rolls now, or were you not through being funny?” Muted snickers floated through the class. Betty’s cheeks burned, but she wasn’t afraid of the skinny substitute teacher.

“I don’t mind.” Miss Haggly gave her a long-suffering sigh.

“’Tweens,” she muttered under her breath. Behind her, Reggie was still passing out copies of the recipe, but he was dawdling, pausing to snigger behind the teacher’s back. Betty caught him out of the corner of her eye, doing a convincing imitation of her stance at the front of the class, mouthing her words by Frankie’s desk.

“Siddown, ese!” Frankie hissed loudly. Moose snorted behind him.

“Dude,” he whispered. Frankie twisted his head around.

“What?”

“C’mon. I need goalposts, man!” Frankie sighed, furtively twisting the rest of the way around in his seat. Reggie reluctantly moved on, peering back at them as Moose set a small, folded paper triangle on its end against his desk. He lined it up, then “kicked” it with his index finger, sending it flying through the opposing L’s of Frankie’s fingers and thumbs.

“Ooh!” Reggie suppressed a laugh unsuccessfully.

“If you want a detention, young man, go ahead. Keep making those little footballs.” Miss Haggly didn’t even turn around to face them. She just kept pounding away with her stick of chalk on the blackboard, writing out the recipe by rote. There were also key words for the day in large block print that she underlined with sharp slashes. “Sit down, now,” she ordered Reggie just as he returned the last of the spare sheets to the desk.

She took roll call and sized up the class. 

“Hmmph…what’ve we got, what’ve we got, two, four, sixxxxxx…” Her sibilant drag on the last number died as she finished counting up the pairs of students with her eyes. “Hunh. Why do I have two mavericks? What’s wrong? Does your breath smell funny?” she asked Reggie pointedly. She nodded to Betty. “You afraid this young man has cooties?” Betty’s shoulders shook. Reggie cocked his eyebrow in disgust.

“Please,” he muttered.

“Don’t be shy. Partner up. Over there.” She nodded to Betty’s customary work station. “There you are. Now you won’t be lonely.”

“But,” Betty argued.

“Aw, c’mon,” Reggie whined, equally aghast. His dark brown eyes raked over Betty like she had grown warts.

“Do you want to get credit for today’s lesson or not? Two and two, just like everybody else,” Miss Haggly snapped. “Suit up.” She tossed each of them an apron. Reggie’s was long and navy blue, butcher-style with flat pockets. Betty’s was white cotton printed in bunches of grapes and trimmed in ruffles. It was girly, something she usually didn’t mind.

“You look like ‘I Love Lucy,’” Reggie muttered under his breath.

“Jerk,” Betty hissed back as they took their copy of the recipe to the counter and began assembling their ingredients.

She snuck looks at him. Reggie didn’t look bad in the apron.

In the back of her mind, he even reminded her of Ricky Ricardo, except that Reggie couldn’t sing, and Ricky didn’t throw spitballs at Lucy or snap her bra straps during gym class. Reggie Mantle, in Betty’s estimation, was a merciless prick.

Despite that, he wasn’t bad looking.

She’d argued that when Veronica expressed it out loud, however.

“He’s cute.”

“No, he isn’t! Ew!”

“He looks good. Check him out. He’s wearing Abercrombie and Fitch.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means he has money,” Veronica sniffed.

“So do you. You’re not a jerk.”

“I still think he’s cute.”

“So? Tell him.”

“No!” she snorted. “I don’t like him as much as Archie, silly.”

Betty pouted. The narrow sliver of an opportunity to distract Ron from the redhead of her fantasies died upon its inception.

Her face was sour as she retrieved the ingredients from the refrigerator while Reggie goofed off with Moose and Frankie while their partners did all the work. Betty sighed.

This wouldn’t do at all. It was bad enough she had to listen to that blowhard. She wasn’t going to do his work for him and let him take all the credit. Miss Haggly seemed to read her mind.

“That’ll be enough of that, you little hooligans,” she snapped, clapping her hands and shaking her wooden spoon in the boys’ general direction. “Get back to your stations and help your partners. Heat up those burners! We’ve got some wet ingredients that need mixing, people! Hop to it!” Reggie hurried back to the stove/sink island and stared at the assembled items.

“Now what?”

“Milk,” Betty said, pointing to the recipe sheet, without looking at him. “Measure it out. Then add the sugar.”

To her surprise, he actually seemed to know what he was doing. Reggie set the Pyrex cup down on the counter, stooped down and poured, watching the liquid rise until it was eye level. He deftly dumped it into the saucepan, only spilling a few drops.

“Careful!” Betty hissed anyway.

“Shut your face. It’s fine.”

“I don’t want a big mess to clean up.”

“You call that a big mess,” Reggie muttered. “You’re such a goodie-goodie. I bet you vacuum the dirt in your front yard.”

“I’d rather do that than be a slob,” she retorted. “Do the sugar.” She handed him the pink box.

His fingertips grazed hers as he took it. She flinched, and a hot flush rose up into her cheeks. “Why’re you all jumpy, Bets?”

“M’not,” she argued.

“Sure, you’re not,” he said, disbelieving. His dark brows drew together and he smirked.

They fussed back and forth over the contents of the pan.

“Is that ‘almost melted?’” Reggie eyed the butter, which was leaving yellow trails across the milk’s surface in the saucepan. He squinted down at the instructions on the sheet, which were vague to him.

“Looks like it,” Betty mused.

“I wanna do the eggs.”

“Knock yourself out.” Boys liked to break things, Betty figured. But he actually rapped them gently against the bowl, unlike Moose across the way, who bashed his so hard that they splattered. Betty turned off the burner and held the saucepan with both hands while she poured the warm mixture into the well of flour and yeast. Reggie beat her grab for the whisk and began to stir it. “Scrape down the sides,” she nagged.

“Pfft. I am. God, you’re bossy, Miss Goody-Goody.” 

“Then do it right. I want an A.” She glared at him as she set the pan in the sink of hot water she already filled.

“So what else is new?”

“What’s wrong with me wanting to get a good grade.” He shrugged.

“You’re such a bookworm,” he muttered. “Don’t you have a life?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my life,” she protested indignantly, scowling.

Reggie liked the tiny wrinkles around the bridge of her nose that she got whenever she got mad. Her large blue eyes narrowed.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I’m telling you that, Reg.”

“I’m telling _you_ that, Reg,” he mimicked, turning up one nostril and crossing his eyes as he turned back to the dough. He dumped in the eggs. She shoved the wooden spoon at him and walked off. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m getting some water.”

“Wah. I’ll be so lonely while you’re gone.” There was a sneer in his voice; his words bounced off her retreating back as she stalked off.

Her hips looked nice in those jeans. His dark brown eyes ate her up.

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?” Miss Haggly repeated Reggie’s demand, hand on her hip.

“Water fountain.”

“Hurry back. No shenanigans.” Betty tried hard not to smile at the word “shenanigans.”

But in the hall, she sighed in exasperation. Why Reggie, of all people? Her day had been going just fine. Why did he always have to pick her to pick on? What was up with him? She began to regret that she hadn’t taken Jug up on his offer, even if it just meant he would freeload off of all her hard work.

She headed for the fountain and took long, thirsty gulps just to avoid having to go back to class.

“Hey.” Betty eyes darted toward the voice just shy of her left elbow. They were just level with the horizontal white stripe of Archie’s black sweater. She choked, sputtering and coughing as she straightened up.

“Hi…*karrgh*…Arch…*koff*.”

“Geez, you okay?” His blue eyes danced as he looked her over. “Nice apron.”

“Thanks,” she grinned through trying to clear her throat and flick at the corner of her watery eye.

“Home ec?” he inquired of the obvious.

“Cinnamon rolls,” she clarified for him. 

“Cool. I have that today, too, then.”

“Miss Haggly’s the sub.”

“Shit,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“She’s gonna give Moose detention.”

“He practically lives there, anyway.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Her sigh was wistful. She was running out of small talk but was enjoying his voice. And his scent, which was a mixture of Axe deodorant and a mint breath strip.

“Psst. Psst…Arch!”

It was Reggie, peering furtively back into the classroom from the doorway. He was sizing them up and smirking again. 

“What’s up?”

“They paired me up with Betty Crocker, here,” he scoffed. Archie’s shoulders shook as he peered back at Betty. She felt her cheeks turn an angry, ugly red, heating up all the way to her scalp. She stepped away from him.

“Betty Crocker,” Archie chuckled.

“See ya,” Betty offered quickly as she darted back into the classroom, brushing past Reggie, who feinted back with his hands held up in surrender. Her shoulder grazed his chest when he didn’t move back far enough, fast enough, taking up all the space in the doorframe.

She wanted to kill him.

She settled for pounding the dough onto the floured rolling board in the guise of kneading it.

“Put some back into it, kiddo,” Miss Haggly encouraged.

“Why are boys so stupid?” she muttered under her breath.

“I’ve been asking myself that for twenty years,” her teacher admitted sagely. “Don’t overwork it, it’ll get tough.” She called back to Reggie, who had gone back to Frankie’s station. “Get back over here and pull your own weight, Twinkle Toes. I don’t have to give both of you the same grade, y’know.”

Betty knew they were talking about her, if Frankie’s darting glances were any indication. She stuck out her tongue at him. He held up his hands helplessly. “What’d I do?” he yelped back innocently. She turned her back on him. “Miss Haggly, Betty’s making faces at me.”

“Can’t blame her. You’re funny looking,” Miss Haggly snapped. “Don’t interrupt the woman while she’s cooking. Which you should be doing.”

She overheard Reggie murmuring “should have seen the look on her face” and “Arch” over the sound of her fists hitting the dough.

It was a triumph for Reggie, score two, over Betty, zip. One: He’d gotten a rise out of her. And two, he’d diverted her from his chief rival in the process.


	4. Meet in the Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School dances. Let the humiliations and confusion continue.

Author’s Note: I think people reading my stories must think I don’t like Archie much. I’ve always been on the fence in that regard. On the one hand, he isn’t a mean person. On the other hand, he’s a two-timing user. Yeah. You see where I’m torn.

“How about this one?”

“I don’t like it with the red. Try the blue.”

“I hate the blue.”

“It matches your eyes.”

“But it’s a drab blue. We should’ve gone to Rave,” Betty complained, turning to rehang a red and white striped blouse in the closet. She tugged on the hem of another chambray button-down top that had flattering pintucking and short sleeves, carefully gathered in the back at the waist to emphasize its narrow curve. It was a nice enough blouse any other day, but tonight, it felt drab.

“Go with that one. Wear the white jeans,” Veronica suggested helpfully. Betty made a face.

“Maybe if I put a bracelet with it. Or something. It needs some color.”

“It looks fine.” Betty sighed.

“I don’t even know what to do with my hair.”

“Put it up.”

“I don’t want it up.”

“Then wear it down.”

“It’ll make me sweat.” And it never failed. As soon as Betty had her hair just the way she wanted it, flowing around her face in well-behaved waves, one drop of sweat made it frizz up in a flyaway mess. She took the blouse off the hanger and reached for her table-top ironing board, laying it on the bed.

“Picky, picky.”

“What’re you wearing?”

“This.” Veronica opened up her overnight duffle and pulled out a pink plastic shopping bag with white handles. Betty inwardly groaned; of course she had something brand new.

And red. Eye-popping red.

“We can’t both wear red. We’ll look like the Bobsey Twins.” Veronica drew the short red dress with three-quarter length sleeves from the bag and laid it out, then pulled out a pair of little two-inch pumps.

Betty burned with envy. The outfit Ronnie picked was fabulous, and Betty would look like a peahen next to her when they walked into the gym. Veronica was already wearing all the jewelry she needed, namely a pair of diamond studs in her ears that her father gave her for her birthday.

“It’s so cute,” Betty murmured. If anything, the dress made her decision about her own outfit easier.

The white jeans had to go. She would blend into the wallpaper. Betty rehung them and pulled out a short, black denim skirt with bold white topstitching. “Oh,” Veronica said, raising her eyebrows. “You’re wearing that?”

“With my Mary Janes,” Betty decided. She wanted shoes she could dance in without pinching her feet. Veronica relaxed slightly; Betty could have sworn she brightened once she saw the sensible, flat little shoes.

“Looks great!” she told her cheerfully. Betty beamed.

The clothes were locked up. Now came the _makeup._ Betty kept her makeup in a modest little pink vinyl bag. Veronica’s was a large case in the form of a folding easel with a light-up mirror. There were multiple fold-down shelves of eye shadows, glosses and blushers. Betty contented herself with a single coat of dark brown mascara to bring out her pale lashes and make them look slightly longer. Next came some shimmery, silver-blue eye shadow in a light enough layer to appease her mother. She finished her look with mauve lip gloss, a step up from her only other tube of shell pink. There.

“Crap. I have a big zit,” Betty moaned. She dove into her bag for her cover-up stick.

“Poor baby,” Ronnie repeated smugly. “I had an oxygen facial yesterday.”

“Lucky duck.”

“You should get one.”

 _I should win the frickin’ Lotto first._ “Must be nice.”

“Boys don’t notice stuff like that, but they will notice a zit,” Ronnie pointed out.

“Brat!” Betty brandished her hairbrush, and Ronnie ducked. But her earlier joy over her outfit dwindled. But in the meantime, it was educational watching Ronnie apply her makeup. She wasn’t shy about the lipstick; she chose a MAC matte in bold red and lined her lips first in a slightly darker pencil. There it was: The Famous Lodge Pout. Her mother invented it, but Ronnie perfected it, _owned_ it. Next came black eyeliner and mascara. It was overkill, but her dress almost demanded it. Veronica Lodge was no wallflower.

The eye shadow she chose was smoky, warm browns and charcoal grays. She applied it with a slightly heavy hand, but her parents weren’t on hand to say no. That was half the appeal of getting ready at Betty’s house. Aside from that, Betty’s mother was an excellent cook. Sleepovers usually involved Rice Krispie treats and homemade cocoa. Gaston was a master chef who Veronica’s father lured away from his own restaurant in Paris to come and work for him, but he didn’t believe in simple foods. For all of Veronica’s privileges that she enjoyed, Betty’s home was her favorite place to escape and to be herself.

Betty slid on a silver charm bracelet and preened in front of her full-length mirror. “Okay. I’m ready.” Butterflies swamped her stomach.

“Why’re you so twitchy?”

“I’m excited, and my hands are all sweaty. We’re going to the dance!” Betty chirped, grabbing Veronica’s hands and swinging her around the room. She hugged her best friend and bounced her up and down.

“Don’t mess up my hair!” Veronica snapped, but she giggled, too. “I can’t wait,” she admitted. “This is gonna be so much fun. I can’t wait to see Archie’s face when he sees my outfit.”

“Or mine,” Betty countered. Veronica shrugged as she checked her hair one more time.

Betty’s father raised his brow over the edge of the newspaper as they came downstairs.

“Hold up. Wardrobe check,” he reminded them. Hal stood up and perused them both. “What do you call that, young lady?”

“What?”

“That scrap of cloth that your legs are hanging out of. Where’s the rest of it?”

“It’s just a skirt, Daddy! It’s not that short!” The hem reached four inches above her knees and showed off just enough leg, in her mind. “Mom bought it for me.”

“After extreme amounts of begging,” her mother piped up from the kitchen. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Daddy…I don’t wanna go up and change, I like what I have on.” Her blue eyes beseeched him. _Please don’t embarrass me in front of Veronica._ He sighed.

“All right. Wear a decent jacket, then. Don’t catch a cold. Shouldn’t you at least put on some warm stockings or someth-“

“DAD!”

“Right. That’s a no on the stockings.” He turned to Veronica. “Ummm…” He made motions toward her dress. “That’s…wow. Does your mother know you’re wearing that?”

“Oh, Mr. Cooper,” Ronnie cajoled. “It’s just a little dress.”

“Emphasis on ‘little.’ Stay out of trouble, young lady.”

“What trouble?” she asked innocently.

“Betty might have some jeans you could borrow,” he suggested. Alice came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. Her eyes bugged when she saw Veronica’s outfit.

“Wow,” was all she came up with, echoing her husband’s sentiment. “Hope you don’t get a draft.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. Betty grabbed her denim jacket, quietly pleased that it matched her outfit pretty well without overkill. Veronica put on a smart, trim belted leather jacket and grabbed her purse. Her jacket didn’t have pockets; Betty had the feeling she would be holding Veronica’s purse for part of the night, and it rankled.

Hal dropped them off in the school courtyard with the usual warnings. “Call me if you want to come home early. Don’t wait out here if no one else is outside. Here’s some money. Got your tickets?”

“Yes, Daddy.” She leaned over and gave him an obligatory kiss, comforted by the familiar scratch of his stubble and the scent of his aftershave. He smiled sadly.

“I’m not ready for this. What happened to my little girl?” he mused.

“We’re growing up, Mr. Cooper,” Ronnie answered for her, looping her arm through Betty’s and dragging her away.

“Bye, Daddy!” He watched them dart off toward the entrance and heard the boom of music that leaked outside, having no clue how teenagers could stand that noise. He drove off, prepared to weather a night of fretting over whether his daughter’s upbringing would prevail over her best friend’s antics.

The girls stood in line, waiting their turn to hand in their tickets. Miss Haggly was at the table, looking slightly less matronly in jeans and a sweater set. She took the girls’ tickets and tore off the stubs, handing them back.

“That’s for the coat check room that we have set up inside,” she barked. “Save those so you can get your stuff back at the end of the night. Behave.”

“Aye, aye!” Veronica piped up. Miss Haggly snorted.

“What on earth do you have on? Better question, where’s the rest of it?” Veronica tsked.

“This is all of it!” Before Veronica could launch into a full snit, squealing voices from the doorway to the gym interrupted them. Midge, Nancy, Maria and Ethel swarmed over and pounced.

“Girl, look at you!” Nancy encouraged, grabbing the sleeve of Betty’s jacket. “Liking the hair.” Betty settled for wearing it down, but gathering the front back in a simple barrette and slightly curling her long bangs.

“Look at your dress!” Ethel exclaimed. Midge whistled.

“You’re blocking my table, girls, move it along! Don’t take any wooden nickels,” she chided them, pointing one long, bony finger. “And make sure those boys keep their hands to themselves. I’ll be making my rounds.” They hurried off, giggling and murmuring as they searched for the coat room.

It was time to prowl.

The boys had begun to assemble around the bleachers, most of them wearing the same clothes for a typical school day, making Betty envious. No hard decisions or extra ironing, no mirror checks to make sure their butts didn’t look fat, and no complicated choices of which shoes to wear. It wasn’t fair. They also looked mellow and relaxed. The music soared through the gym, louder than she expected, and it made her heart skip in a jittery rhythm.

What if the boys thought she couldn’t dance? What if Archie didn’t notice her outfit? What if Veronica was the only one he wanted to dance with? What if…

She tried to shake it off. She noticed that Ethel looked nervous, too, and Betty sidled up next to her. They leaned against the wall, staring around at the growing crowd.

“I’ll be glad when everyone gets here,” she muttered. “Then I won’t feel so…out in the open.”

“You look nice,” Betty countered. Ethel wore black jeans and a cropped red sweater, with Ecko sneakers on her feet that had dragons painted on them. She pulled her hair into two pert pigtails atop her head, emphasizing her long, narrow face and the shiny green eye shadow she’d applied. Betty wanted to suggest wiping some of it off, but she didn’t want to make her friend any more self-conscious. Ethel slouched, not helping her tall, gawky frame with the bad posture. She was already five-foot-seven and still growing.

“I want someone to ask me to dance this time,” Ethel complained. “I don’t know if Juggie’s even coming.”

“Oooooooooo,” Betty teased, elbowing her. Ethel blushed. “Someone’s got her eye on somebody, huh? Time for a little romance!”

“Quit it!” Ethel reached out to smack her, but Betty ducked, grinning. “Wish he’d show up, though.”

“I don’t know if there’s going to be any snacks,” Betty pointed out. “That’d make him buy a ticket.”

The gym filled up over the next ten minutes, and invisible battle lines were drawn, boys on one side, girls on the other. The plan of attack? Make the boys cross the gym. And if that didn’t work, make a move onto the dance floor without having to be the first ones out there. And if you were a guy, take the chance that the walk across the gym floor would seem interminably long, a slow, hand sweat-inducing torture that would suck if the girl said no.

Some of the boys made repeat trips to the soda table as a distraction; the Pepsi disappeared fast. Girls disappeared and reappeared intermittently to check their makeup in the bathroom and make “one last pitstop.” 

Chuck found Nancy and clung to her like a burr. She leaned on him as they both swayed to the music from the sidelines, neither willing to be a spectacle if they wandered out onto the floor yet. Moose slowly meandered around the perimeter of the dance floor after ribbing from his friends. He rubbed his nape and tugged on Midge’s sleeve from behind, interrupting her from a shopping story with Ronnie. She turned and looked sheepish, then gave him a coy smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Uh…what’s goin’ on?”

“Just hangin’ out. I’ve been here for a while.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He looked around, and his eyes drifted over his shoulder briefly. He caught sight of Reggie and Frankie mouthing the words “go for it, man!” and jeering at him, and a scowl beetled his heavy blond brows. But he turned back to Midge, who had just received the thumbs-up and a nod of approval from Betty and Ethel. _Ask him,_ Betty mouthed. Midge tried unsuccessfully to ignore Betty’s imploring look.

For some reason, seeing Midge’s progress with the normally cocky jock made Betty…giddy. She felt a sense of anticipation that she could be next, if she positioned herself well enough.

“Music’s okay,” Moose said suddenly. “At least this DJ’s not lame.”

“Yeah. Last one was pretty lame,” she agreed. Her cheeks were hot and she crossed her arms, unsure of where to put her hands. The stance made her look vulnerable, and he tried not to peek at her breasts, their scant curves more visible beneath her heavy green sweater. Midge was smokin’ hot.

“Um…you gonna dance? Soon?”

“Yeah. Probably.” 

“Cool.” They stared out onto the floor, pondering the next best plan of attack. “Um…you wanna?”

“Yeah,” she answered quickly. He suppressed a smile. 

“Next song?” It bought them more time to see if anyone else would go out first.

“Sure.”

 _Score!_ Moose held back the urge to pump his fist in the air. Midge’s pulse raced. _OhmyGod OhmyGod OhmyGod OhmyGod!_ She was going to do it. Actually do it. Midge was thrilled. She was terrified.

Veronica was finally the instigator. “I’m bored,” she complained. She grabbed Betty and Marie by the arms. “C’mon!” she nagged, dragging them out onto the floor. It was a fast song, to Betty’s relief, but she was still slightly disappointed that none of the other boys had budged from the bleachers. 

Reggie was holding court, making broad motions of a jump shot. She wasn’t surprised that he was going out for basketball again. She was looking forward to it herself, both for the game itself, and for the chance to peek over at the boys’ side of the court over the divider during practice. Archie was rapt at first, just from listening, but Reggie’s next words were obviously derisive; he gave him an indignant shove that only made Reggie laugh.

 _He’s such a stuck-up jerk,_ Betty mused, _picking on Archie like that._ But her sympathy went unnoticed as she tried to throw herself into the song that beat down around them. Veronica was confident and the other girls migrated out onto the floor, copying her moves in one form or another. At least she would get to dance, Betty decided, but it would have been more fun with a boy. Ethel eventually joined them after a cup of Pepsi to get her courage up. Juggie still hadn’t shown up, and she wallowed in disappointment.

The crowd spawned tentative couples who drifted out onto the floor, finally starting to even the ratio of boys to girls who were actually dancing.

Archie showed up, pausing behind Veronica, much to Betty’s dismay. She tried to get his attention anyway. “Hi, Arch.” He gave her an easy smile.

“Hey, Bets. I didn’t know you were coming. Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool. I wondered when you were gonna show up.” Veronica turned around then, fixing Archie with a collected, dazzling smile, lacking the uncertainty of Betty’s.

“I wondered when you were going to dance with me,” she accused, pouting.

 _Shit. The pout._ Betty fumed. It was already starting. Veronica, one; Betty, zip.

Her feet backed her away from them as they stood closer to each other, blatant male interest leaking through Archie’s posture, smile and gestures as he sized up Veronica in her skimpy outfit. Her own smile faltered. She did the only thing she knew how to do at that point.

She danced. Maria, Ethel and Nancy were glad of the company, even if Nancy had Chuck tied to her with an invisible rope. She feigned joy she didn’t feel and smiled, even laughed at some of Chuck’s “killer moves.” It helped. Somewhat. 

Betty tried not to focus on Veronica at that point, knowing that if she turned around, she would see them dancing like a couple.

The next three songs yielded the same result. Betty wasn’t a wallflower, certainly, but her goof-proof look hadn’t hooked any fish yet. But if her vantage point from the dance floor offered any consolation, it helped her to watch more of what was going on around her.

Reggie had already danced with two different girls. Two dances each. They were relatively pretty and just as heavily made up as Veronica, but they hadn’t quite gotten the shoes right, or the hair right. Betty watched them with amusement. Each one of their faces lit up when Reggie showed up with his magnanimous smile and fashionable slouch, hands tucked in his pockets.

His technique reminded her so much of _Veronica’s_. He did that thing…that thing with his hair…ran his hand through the back of it in an almost…vulnerable gesture. Betty wrinkled her nose. _What the heck for?_

Yet it worked. They ate it up. Both girls took his hand and followed him out onto the floor looking like they had won the Miss Riverdale pageant at the county fair. To his credit, once he got out there, he could actually dance. A mean voice inside Betty wished he would suck at it, even look like Yo Gabba Gabba characters on acid – Foofa, if she had her choice – but much like everything else, he was good at it. Betty’s eyes followed him at the end of the fourth fast song. It was over, just like that. He excused himself with a coy grin, and each girl walked off disappointed, but then hurried off to find their respective girlfriends and head to the bleachers or the rest room to shoot the shit and give the scoop.

Her bubble was broken on the next number, which was a slow song. Betty walked off the floor automatically, but she shot a brief glance over her shoulder. 

Sure enough, Ronnie was snugged up against Archie, dancing too close, giving him the soulful eyes she’d been practicing in the mirror since both girls were eleven. His hands were on her waist, hungry for the feel of her hips. Betty wished they were _her_ hips.

She was about to join Ethel on the bleachers when a finger briskly tapped her shoulder. She spun around and found Dilton staring at her through his bifocals. His posture was awkwardly erect, making the most of his slight height. In all likelihood, Dilton wasn’t finished growing, but in the meantime, most girls in their class towered over his five-feet-two inches.

“Betty, would, uh, you like to…y’know…” His voice trailed off. She took immediate pity on him.

“Yeah. C’mon.” She took his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the floor, even though the urge to gallop back out there, dragging him along was strong. _I don’t have to sit on the bleachers!_ He wasn’t Archie, but her night incrementally improved. The height difference between them no doubt appeared comical, but she didn’t mind. Dilton had taken pains with his appearance, wearing one of his almost trademark sweater vests, this one a camel beige that brought out his dark brown eyes. He wore it over a white, short-sleeve polo and plain khakis. He wore brown loafers instead of sneakers, and they were impeccably neat. Church shoes, she guessed, footwear that probably didn’t see the light of day more often than once a week.

He’d worked a little gel into his unruly black curls, making them slightly spiky. The corner of her mouth twitched.

“Are you having a good time, Dil?” she nearly shouted into his ear. He leaned in closer and murmured up into hers.

“It’s okay. It’s my first.”

“You’ve never been to a dance?” She realized she had never seen him at any the year before, somewhat belatedly, and hated herself for the question. He shrugged, but she could tell he was bashful.

“Uh-uh. I always had something else to do.”

“You look nice.”

“So do you. You’re a good dancer. Um…I saw you out here,” he offered. She chuckled. As Betty spoke, her hands gesticulated over his shoulders while his remained respectfully at her waist.

“I just wanted to dance with _somebody_ ,” she admitted.

“Yeah,” he agreed, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. Dilton’s breath smelled like a Listerine mint strip, a saving grace, and she wondered if her own smelled okay. He wasn’t leaning away from her, at any rate…

 _What?_ Her eyes caught an odd movement to her left, just off the floor. She inadvertently turned them more quickly in their circle, almost throwing off Dilton’s steps. He arched one brow but said nothing.

 _Reggie._ Jerk. _Asshat_. He was mimicking her. He was laughing and holding out his arms straight as a board, over the shoulders of an imaginary, shorter partner. Frankie and Alex Cabot laughed with him, giving her smirks that made her want to smack them. He looked like Frankenstein’s monster, throwing in plodding footsteps. She heard his low, groaning sounds over the music as he pretended to be deranged. As far as Betty was concerned, he _was._

So there you had it. Reggie Mantle singlehandedly ruined her first-ever slow dance, even if it was just with Dilton.

To make it worse, she wasn’t the only person who noticed. “Betty?”

“Yes?” she replied, startled by Dilton’s thoughtful tone.

“Ignore him. He’s an asshole.”

“DILTON!” Her smile was shocked. Dilton didn’t swear. He had a vocabulary that read like Roget’s Thesaurus, so she wasn’t expecting the profanity. Dilton looked like he wanted to smile at her reaction.

“Are you embarrassed?” he asked bluntly.

“NO! No…” her voice trailed off. “Not about you. I mean, you’re really cool…I just can’t stand Reggie.”

“You aren’t the only one, you know.”

“Good.” They finished the dance in a closer, tighter ring and stayed that way through the next song. Betty didn’t make an attempt to break away, and when she peered down into Dilton’s face, he shrugged and smiled. She smiled back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Reggie on the dance floor, this time with a new girl. It figured. He could try to ruin her dance while he had as many as he wanted, with as many partners? No way. That wouldn’t fly. When he whispered something into his partner’s ear, she turned in Betty’s direction, and Betty shot her a warning glare over Dilton’s ear. The girl’s smile dropped and she looked away. Reggie caught the tail-end of her venomous look. 

_Oooh, I’m scared,_ he mouthed. He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

“His face might stay that way if we slap his back the next time he does that,” Dilton said hopefully. He saw Reggie’s reflection behind him when he looked just far enough in the right direction into his lenses.

“It would be an improvement.”

She was disappointed when Dilton pulled away from her as the song blended into a fast number. “Aw,” she protested.

“I can’t fast-dance,” he explained, pushing up his glasses again. “Thanks, Bets.”

“See ya.” She waved as he left, and Betty headed back toward the bleachers to see if she could find her friends. She rounded up Ethel, who looked slightly envious.

“He asked you to dance?”

“Yup. He was decent. Nice, too.”

“Aw, man!” Ethel threw up her hands. “I should’ve just stayed home.”

“Nope. Get out there and dance. C’mon!” Betty strong-armed her out there, tearing giggles from her friend as they headed into the thick of the crowd. Chuck and Nancy found them, completing their group, and Betty felt immeasurably better.

Until Veronica showed up, looking too gleeful or Betty’s taste. _Way_ too gleeful. “Betty!” she piped up, nabbing her by the arm. “C’mon! Come to the girl’s room with me!”

“Sheesh,” she muttered under her breath, but she mouthed “I’ll be back” to Ethel contritely. Ethel shrugged, but she decided to stay out on the floor. Betty nearly stumbled over her Mary Janes as she followed her friend. They wove through the kids lingering by the gym door, wallflowers like Betty had feared she would be. Veronica tugged her inside the bathroom and in front of the mirror, automatically checking her hair and replenishing her lipstick.

“Oh, my God, where were you?” she accused smugly. “I looked for you a while ago!” 

“I was dancing.” _Not that it mattered to you, Miss I’m Hogging Archie to Myself._

“With who?”

“Dilton.”

“Pffft…WHY?” Ronnie stared at her like she’d grown another head.

“He asked me. He’s nice, anyway. Why not?”

“I know, but he’s just…a nerd. A short nerd,” she corrected herself as she fluffed her hair. Betty absently tucked a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear, not to be outprimped.

“Ron, don’t be mean.”

“He _is_ short.”

“That’s no big deal. Midge is short, but she was dancing with Moose.” Ronnie’s eyes grew wide; she enjoyed having a new, worthy target.

“OhmyGOD, I KNOW! They looked like the Odd Couple!” Betty snickered this time. “She likes him, too.”

“I didn’t know that. Huh.” Betty shrugged.

“I don’t know why. He’s a troglodyte.”

“That’s a big word.”

“Look it up. Moose’s picture will be next to it in the dictionary.” Betty sighed.

“So what’s up?”

“I danced with him!” Ronnie squealed, grabbing Betty’s hand and squeezing it with manic joy. “Four times!”

“Wow.” Jealousy ate at Betty. “Where is he now?”

“Getting me a soda,” Ronnie shrugged. “I’m going to meet him in a minute.” Betty had enough at that point.

“I’m gonna head out in a minute.” She headed into the last stall in the row and shut the door behind herself. If Veronica was put out by her friend’s dismissal, she didn’t show it. Betty heard her closing her lipstick tube with a low click. 

“See ya.”

“Yeah. Bye.” Betty listened to her retreating steps in frustration. _Great._ Just great. She leaned against the stall wall and repeatedly rapped her forehead against the cool metal. _Crap._

So that was that. Archie liked Ronnie. Betty got the hint. She decided a pit stop actually was in order, washed her hands with the clinical-smelling liquid soap and dried her hands on her skirt when she noticed the towels hadn’t been refilled. It didn’t matter if they were clammy; if there was another slow song, she’d end up in the bleachers, anyway…

She headed back into the gym, giving her teachers a halfhearted wave. They watched her fondly.

“There goes a good egg,” Miss Haggly pointed out. Superintendent Haskins nodded in agreement.

“Great citizenship. Nice kid. Good school spirit.”

“At least she dresses her age,” piped up one of the other teachers as she sipped a diet soda. “Some of these girls…sheesh. Don’t their mothers check how they look before they walk out the door?” They all shook their heads. “And the MAKEUP!”

“Don’t get me started,” Miss Haggly warned. “I could go on all night about that nonsense. When I was that age, a light coat of lipstick was as far as it went. Even wearing colored nail polish and nude hose was a big deal.” The rest of the adults in the lobby chimed in with their own memories, keeping themselves entertained while a select few of them chaperoned the crowd inside.

Sure enough, when Betty returned, there was Veronica, nursing her soda, hardly drinking it while Archie hovered by her elbow. His hands were in his pockets, as though he didn’t know what to do with him. He watched Veronica chattering with three other girls, rapt at first, but she saw his eyes flit around once in a while, like he was looking for someone. Betty sighed and headed to the bottom row of the bleachers. Reggie was making the rounds again, talking to pairs and even little clutches of girls, showing off for all he was worth.

He looked handsome. That was no stretch. He even took a page out of Veronica’s book and wore dark red, a long, button-down skater shirt and black jeans. His sneakers looked new; Betty knew he owned several pairs. He ditched the part in his hair and wore the front of it spiked slightly above his hairline. Reggie had a classic profile with a nose that was straight instead of pert or pug. There wasn’t a pimple in sight, and he was one of the only guys in their class who already shaved.

She was so deep in her contemplation of how a jerk could look that good that she jumped out of her skin, startled by a familiar male voice hovering over her. She looked up in surprise at Archie, who was grinning at her.

“Scared ya, huh?”

“Geez…yeah,” she accused. She peered around him and saw that Veronica was still talking a mile a minute, not having noticed that a member of her audience had disappeared. _YES! YES! YES!_ Betty attempted to look nonchalant as Archie sat beside her, dangling his hands between his knees. He smelled yummy, like Axe and Pepsi.

“Why’re you so jumpy?”

“I’m not!”

“Are too. Why’re you all the way over here?”

“Where am I supposed to be?”

“Out there,” he said, nodding out to the floor.

“It’s a slow song.”

“So? You danced with Dilt.”

“He wasn’t into it. I didn’t want to keep him.”

“You looked like you were having fun.”

“I was.”

“Do you…y’know, ‘like him,’ like him?”

“NO! Arch! No. Not like that. He’s just nice. He’s cool when you talk to him.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “I didn’t say he wasn’t, Bets. Sheesh!” He elbowed her; Betty giggled and flushed to the roots of her hair. Her hands felt clammy all over again, and this time there was no help for it. Archie was cute. His blue eyes smiled before the rest of his face did, and she liked the careless flop of his red hair, his licks of bangs hanging long enough for him to have to scrape them back periodically from his eyes in a gesture she squealed over. Privately. She counted his freckles and almost didn’t hear his next words.

“Dance?”

“Huh?”

“Wanna?” He jerked his head toward the floor expectantly.

“Oh.” Her smile started as a small twitch of her lips, then spread itself so wide she thought her face would crack in half. “Yeah. Sure.”

“C’mon,” he grinned, and he tugged her by the hand from her seat, making her feel giddy and light as a feather. _He asked me! **ME!**_ She followed him eagerly, enjoying the occasional glances of the girls around them, even those of a few of his friends. He took her out to the center of the floor, to her delight. No easy escape routes; she had him to herself.

“Don’t stand so far away. Do I stink?” he joked, tugging her against him until their stomachs touched. Heat flared in every cell of her body at the contact, at the soft grip of his hands at her waist that occasionally tightened when he liked something she said. Betty’s heart pounded in her ears, drowning out most of the music, but her feet caught enough of the slow sway of notes to carry her along with him in almost perfect sync. Where he led, she followed. Over hot coals, to the ends of the earth… and for now, around the dance floor that wasn’t as crowded once it thinned down to couples only.

She caught sight of Ethel chatting with Lucky, and her tall friend’s mouth dropped open in surprise. She shot her a thumbs up. Betty grinned over Archie’s shoulder.

“You’re good at this,” Archie murmured, lips grazing her shoulder. She shivered.

“So’re you.”

“Wanna do it again?” Did he even have to _ask??_

“Fine. Sure.” _YES._ His fingers twined themselves through her belt loops, and her mind raced, trying to outrun her heart’s frantic beat. His cheek brushed hers, and his skin felt hot. She leaned back and looked up into his face, smiled awkwardly, then leaned back in to rest her chin against his shoulder. Evidently he approved; his palm flattened against the curve of her lower back, fingers idly toying with the pleat of her blouse.

A second slow song. Four more minutes of sheer heaven. Her eyes drooped shut in pleasure at the feel of his fingers tracing lazy circles at her back, then the way his hands drifted down to rest on her hips. To grip them. Betty was euphoric.

“You look nice, Bets.”

“Thanks.” _OhmyGodhesaidIlooknice!_ “You, too.”

“Smell good, too.” He didn’t feel the crack of her smile against his shoulder.

“You, too.”

She was stunned out of her reverie by a sharp flick of someone’s fingernails against her wrist, tapping her bracelet. She caught sight of Veronica’s eyes boring holes into hers from over Reggie’s shoulder, even though she smiled. _Oops_.

She was going to catch hell. Majorly. Then her eyes did a double take. Veronica was dancing with Reggie? Reggie, who’d made the rounds of the run of the gym?

And Reggie was milking the opportunity, smug that he was dancing with the hottest girl in the eighth grade. They made a smart couple, both with dark good looks, and once again, Betty was almost envious. Almost.

But this was Reggie. If Ronnie would only push Archie a few more inches in Betty’s direction, she could have Reggie with Betty’s blessing. Both brunets danced a couple of paces faster than their friends, so instead of Ronnie’s look of promised vengeance, she met Reggie’s smirk.

It was full of devilment. He made a tsk’ing look that jeered _Is that the best you could do, Cooper?_ Betty sighed, then bowed her face back into Archie’s collar.

“What’s up, Bets?”

“Nothing,” she assured him. “Everything’s fine.”

“’Kay.” He was oblivious, which was fine with her. And her body was reacting…strangely…to his proximity. Her nipples tightened up into nervous little knots, and heat pooled between her legs at the feel of an unnamed bump that she felt pressed against her belly through his rough denims.

Behind them, Veronica and Reggie lost their interest in the dance; Veronica, because she was burning with jealousy, and Reggie, because Ronnie was ignoring him. He didn’t even have the satisfaction of getting a rise out of good ol’ Betty, since she was also ignoring him.

Ron decided to shift the momentum. “Okay, switch!” she chirped, pulling away from Reggie and tapping Archie on the shoulder.

“Huh?”

“C’mon, stranger, you totally deserted me,” she cooed, pouting. 

The Pout. Betty longed to kill her. Archie peered down at Betty apologetically and shrugged. 

“I was kinda dancing with her first,” he pointed out. He let her go. _Let her GO._ Betty panicked as Veronica led him a few feet away and resumed Betty’s place in his arms. It was too much. She turned on her heel and began to hurry away.

A firm hand caught her by the elbow. She whirled around to tell off the source.

Reggie. Looking less smug. He bit his lip.

“C’mere.”

“No,” she protested. She was embarrassed and just wanted to sulk, alone.

“C’mon,” he cajoled. “Bets…don’t leave me hangin’.” He pulled her back inches at a time, one hand scrabbling up her arm after another like he was winning at tug of war. And maybe was letting him, because suddenly his hands were around her waist and her feet followed where he led. One thought beat like a tattoo in her head: _What the heck just happened?_

Her grip on his shoulders was awkward. She tried not to stare after Archie and Ron, so she focused on a spot just over his shoulder to avoid having to look at his smirk.

Except that his face was sober, something she discovered when he spoke, lips fanning warm breath over her ear. “Don’t act so thrilled about it, Bets.”

“Fine. I won’t.” Her voice was indignant, and she felt his fingers curl momentarily against her lower back, as though he was making up his mind, rethinking his earlier decision to take her for a spin around the floor. But her hair was soft and tickled his chin, since he was taller than Betty by about three inches.

Betty’s cheeks burned. Reggie felt…solid. Lean, and his skinny, angular frame that she remembered as too little to fill out his baggy swim shorts in summers past was meatier now, contoured with burgeoning muscle.

She felt him tense before he spoke. “Don’t make me walk back out of here by myself.”

“Please. Like you don’t deserve it. Jerk.”

“What? What’s the big deal? You don’t want to leave me stranded out here,” he said, “do you?”

“Why? You worried the other girls will see?”

“Yeah,” he admitted bluntly. She pulled back to glare at him.

“Nice. That’s just…nice, Reg.” She tsked in disgust, not caring if it showed on her face that he repulsed her.

“Looking for Dilt?”

“No.” She actually did see him, though, talking to Big Ethel, sitting next to her on the third row of bleachers. For some reason, that pleased her.

“Don’t wanna dance with Lover Boy again?”

“Shut up,” she snapped, but she didn’t let go of him, content just to let the music drown out their conversation to anyone’s ears but theirs. “What’s up with you? Why…why do you always jump on my case?? On EVERYONE’S case, for that matter.”

“You’re an easy target,” he shrugged, and he smirked again at the tiny lines between her blonde brows that indicated she was pissed at him again. Game. Set. Match.

“I’d like to say this has been fun…”

“Go ahead.”

“I said I’d like to. I didn’t say I would.” He surprised her by snickering.

“Rowr,” he growled under his breath. His dark eyes danced and she fumed. He wasn’t supposed to laugh…was he? The closing bars of the song seemed to drag on, and she couldn’t wait to break away, not caring if he wanted another dance. Because he wouldn’t, obviously…

…would he? Prickles crept over her back, all the way up to her scalp.

“At least you’re not wasting your time if you hang out with Dilly,” Reggie muttered.

“What are you talking about?”

“Arch likes Ron.”

“He told you that?” She gave him her full attention now, and she felt her face freeze as she looked up at him. Reggie sighed.

“Yeah. Get a clue, Bets.” 

Tears prodded the back of her eyes, making them sting. Reggie realized belatedly that he went too far. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ He heard her low gasp and felt her pull away from him, frantic now to get away from him.

“Leggo,” she snapped, twisting free and darting off through the maze of couples. Leaving him stranded. Behind her, he watched her, frustrated, and Reggie threw up his hands. Betty headed out of his line of vision, disappearing out the exit. He meandered off the floor, deciding it wasn’t worth it to try to cut in on Arch, who was enjoying himself too much for Reggie’s comfort. Ronnie was making goo-goo eyes at him, and Reggie wanted to hurl. 

Betty couldn’t just wait til the end of the song. She couldn’t save him his pride…

But all he could think of were her wet eyes and the way her chin crumpled as she let go of him, taking away her light fragrance and addictive heat. Reggie decided he needed a soda. He settled for 7-Up, since they were out of Pepsi.

Betty made it to the bathroom before the sobbing started, the first low cry tearing itself out of her throat as she reached the sink. She splashed cold water on her face, crying the whole time. 

“What. Was that?” Nancy demanded from the doorway, looking out of breath. She had her arms folded beneath her breasts, and Ethel was in tow behind her. Her pretty dark face demanded answers. Betty caved, throwing up her hand in defeat.

“He… likes Ron…he told R-Reggie he likes… her,” she sniffled pitifully.

“No. Not that. I knew that part already, ‘cuz Chuck-Man’s got a big ol’ mouth. I’m talkin’ about, what’re you doin’ up there, dancing with Mr. Full of Himself Mantle?”

“He made me,” she protested.

“Your feet weren’t broken. Obviously. Ya coulda just walked away, easy as you please.”

“He didn’t want me to leave him hanging.”

“Leave him hanging from a cliff next time, see if he acts so uppity then,” Nancy snapped as she joined her by the sink. Ethel was already checking the dispenser for towels. She shrugged to find it empty, instead retrieving handfuls of toilet paper. 

“Here,” she encouraged. Betty took it gratefully and blotted her face, which was blotchy and red. Nancy was frustrated on Betty’s behalf, and glad to the skies and God Almighty above that Chuck didn’t play that shit. He was her man, he’d keep on _being_ her man til he gave her any kinda mess to make her sick of ‘im. She tried to help Betty restore order to her hair, using a small comb that Ethel fished out of her pocket.

Veronica, her best friend, was nowhere in sight. No surprise.

“I don’t want to look like I was crying,” Betty informed them as Nancy redid her ponytail, even though her bangs were already frizzing from the water.

“Too late, kiddo,” Ethel sympathized, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. Betty leaned into it, and Nancy gave her a hug of her own.

“I don’t know why ya put up with that woman,” Nancy sighed, rocking her and rubbing her back. 

“She’s my best friend.”

“When she wants to be, you mean.”

“Don’t. I’ve got to meet Daddy outside. Help me.” Ethel helped her continued to blot her face, and she wiped off the hint of mascara that smudged itself beneath her eyes. A few minutes later, she decided she passed muster, except for her eyes, but at least the hectic red flush in her cheeks went away.

“I’ve got to find her soon,” Betty complained.

“Girl, WHY?”

“She’s sleeping over.” Nancy slapped her hand over her mouth.

“Don’t make me have to say something, now.”

“Good luck,” Ethel added sagely. “Call me in the morning once she’s gone. Pizza?”

“Heck, yeah,” Nancy agreed. “I want in on that.” The wheels were already turning in her head for a Boys Suck day at the Riverdale Galleria.

They heard the DJ call the last song of the night. All three girls were content to sit that one out; Nancy let Chuck hang out with Frankie and Moose, fine with letting him bullshit for a while. She saw him making shooting motions in the air and she sighed. Basketball, _again._ That was all he was gonna talk about for two months. 

The teachers began to circulate around the room, nagging couples apart and shooing them toward the coat room. The lights in the gym slowly came on, and everyone looked more stark, fatigue evident in their flushed faces and limp walks. Several girls’ bangs were plastered to their foreheads, making Betty grateful she’d worn her hair back and quit dancing while she was ahead.

She retrieved her jacket with her ticket Ethel and Nancy waited with her outside, Chuck in tow. Nancy hugged herself against the chill.

“Brrr.”

“I miss summer,” Betty complained.

“Can’t come fast enough. I hate being cold,” Ethel agreed, but on the other hand, she was grateful. During the cold, she could stick to wearing her jeans and sweaters instead of letting her knobby knees hang out of shorts. There was strength in layers. A low, male voice called out to them from the dark, and the streetlamp glinted off a pair of thick bifocals.

“Bye, Ethel.”

“Bye, Dilly!” she cried, giving him a warm smile. His look was sheepish as he ducked into the passenger seat of his mom’s minivan.

“He’s nice, isn’t he?” Betty mentioned casually.

“Sure he is!” Ethel chirped, beaming. She turned to her friends, face scrunching in confusion. “What?” Betty and Nancy were grinning.

“Chat him up, girl!” Nancy elbowed her, and Ethel gave her a swat.

“Pfft…no. I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Betty pointed out. “He already broke the ice.”

“I’ll just fall in,” Ethel grumbled. “Look, Bets, your dad’s here.”

“I need to have him wait for Ron.”

“Go in and get her. Better yet, I will,” Ethel volunteered, scurrying back inside, rubbing her arms the whole way over her hoodie.

Moments later, Veronica emerged from the lobby, bundled into her leather jacket and letting her purse dangle from her wrist, hands shoved into her pockets. Betty almost waved her over, and her dad honked impatiently from the courtyard, but she froze, unable to stop watching the inevitable.

Archie. Letting Ronnie hand him a slip of paper that looked like a napkin, which he folded and crammed into his pocket. He teased her, grabbing her wrist and prizing her hand from her pocket. He toyed with her fingers, letting her flirt with him. They linked pinkies, making Betty sick.

 _Pinkies._ Well, that just said everything, didn’t it? Reluctantly he let Ronnie go, and she walked dreamily into the courtyard.

Betty cupped her hand around her mouth. “RON! Let’s GO!”

“You could go get her,” her father pointed out as Betty let herself into the back seat.

“She’s coming,” she shrugged. 

“Have fun?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t have to go to anymore, if you didn’t,” he offered.

“Daddy,” she sighed. “I didn’t say that.”

“Just a suggestion. No point in wasting money on a ticket if you don’t have fun. Did you at least dance?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s fine. At least you danced,” he answered simply, satisfied. Betty wanted to sink into the upholstery until she disappeared. Hal turned on the car heater to make the interior more comfortable, noticing that his daughter looked chilled.

Ron hurried up and opened up Betty’s side of the car. “Move over!” she chided playfully, cheeks flushed and happy. Betty accommodated her sourly and stared out her window, leaning toward the door as Veronica clapped hers shut.

“Have fun, kiddo?”

“The best! It was the best! Right, Bets?”

“Sure,” Betty mumbled into her wrist. 

That told her father everything he needed to know.


	5. Mommy Likey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New school, new faces, and new problems. Growing older doesn’t always mean that you’re grown up.

Author’s Note: Thanks, Tenkage. Yes, Cheryl will make brief appearances in this story, I like how snotty she is in the Betty and Veronica digests too much not to use her once in a while. And thanks, Belleza, for dropping in, you’re always welcome! *waves*

**One year later:**

Betty never expected to actually feel hungry when she had fourth period lunch, since it seemed so soon after she had breakfast, but her stomach growled all the way to the cafeteria.

Her new navy blue Janson backpack felt heavy already, loaded with her new texts and mountains of paperwork. Her mother would spend most of the night perusing the permission slip/parent contact number forms stuffed into the large, yellow manila envelope. It felt so weird to Betty not to be at the beach at this hour of the day with her friends, doing her nails and listening to her old Journey discs.

She made it to her locker, which was situated in the middle of a bank of them in the rear section of the cafeteria. Her homeroom was also in cafeteria section B, which made her life easier when she arrived in the morning. Veronica was the one who had to walk clear across the building to find her when her dad’s chauffeur dropped her off.

Her schedule was a bear. Geometry first period, because her guidance counselor was under the misconception that she could actually think clearly at that hour of the day. Girl’s field hockey second period, because she needed to badly to go to all of her other classes for the day a sweaty wreck with bad hair. Third period French, which she could live with…kind of. Ronnie was in her fine arts electives this year, which was a plus. 

Bio lab right after lunch kind of sucked. Smelling Bunsen burner butane and formaldehyde right after she ate wasn’t exactly appetizing. Study hall at the end of the day was fine with Betty, though, since that gave her the chance to catch up on some of her schoolwork before she had to take all of it home.

She was still fine with her outfit that she picked for the first day, so far not seeing anyone else wearing the exact same thing. Veronica obviously never had that problem.

For Betty, big shopping trips meant layaway. Weekend babysitting over the summer hadn’t made her wallet fat, but it guaranteed that she could buy some of the things she really wanted herself. Alice was gradually nudged from her daughter’s wardrobe decisions as a result. If Betty wanted to buy jeans with holes in the knees with her own money, then Betty could have holey jeans. It wasn’t up to her anymore, but she secretly craved the chance to hide each piece of questionable clothing in a sealed steel drum and dump it off a cruise liner.

Her Baby Phat jeans cost a king’s ransom and were worth every penny. Ditto for the white Southpole jersey with rhinestones that she’d picked up from Against All Odds from the rack of changing room returns by the register.

Summer left her incrementally taller; she figured she’d finished her spurt at an even five feet, six inches, and that was fine with her. More freckles greeted her as she put on her makeup that morning, so she went slightly overboard with the pressed powder. She still fit into a size five easily, and fall and winter sports would keep that effort unhindered.

Riverdale High felt huge compared to middle school; the student body also included transfer students from Central City and Pembroke, so there were dozens of new faces. She wondered if they were watching her with equal scrutiny, and Betty spent most of the day feeling self-conscious. Being an incoming freshman felt…weird. Off-balance.

Betty stood in the lunch line, looking disdainfully at the offerings. The food sure hadn’t gotten any better. She selected a carton of skim milk and a granola bar and contemplated the hot meal or the pasta salad. Neither one appealed to her.

“Hurry up!” hissed a boy behind her when she lingered too long. She turned and glared at him imperiously.

“Don’t get your panties in a knot. Here. Go ahead and cut if you’re so desperate. It all sucks, anyway.” She made a “Just go, already” gesture with her hand, shooing him in front of her. His auburn brows rose in surprise.

“Oooookaaaay…I tell a girl she’s taking too long, and she tells me not to get my panties in a knot.” He elbowed the boy behind him, who was smirking. “What IS it with chicks here, Ced man?”

“Nice,” his friend gloated. “Panties.” Clearly he approved, and he looked Betty up and down with male appreciation.

“You’re too nice, Blondie. You wouldn’t have lasted five minutes at Pembroke.”

“Good,” she sniffed. “Why would I want to? Everyone’s stuck up there from what I’ve heard.”

“Pfft. Nice,” he muttered, grinning and shaking his head. “Well, your ittle-biddy fwiends told you wong!” he mocked. He cut in front of her, and his friend followed without her permission. Betty shrugged.

“You’re not changing my mind.”

“Poor me. I can’t make the little townie change her mind.”

“Damn, Jase. You got burned, man.” Clearly the taller one with the auburn hair, darker than Archie’s carroty red, was the ringleader and decision-maker between them. He reached easily for one of the mini-pizzas and grabbed a sports drink and bag of chips. Betty was jealous; boys always got to eat whatever they wanted. There was no justice.

“So why did you come to Riverdale, if Pembroke’s so great?” she challenged, school pride rearing its head.

“Because my dad got a transfer here for his job, so my sister and I had _no choice._ Why do inquiring minds wanna know?”

 _When is he being transferred back?_ “I dunno,” she shrugged, feigning disinterest. He shook his head.

“Sure you don’t.” They moved up toward the cashier. “C’mon. Ask me.” He dug out his wallet.

“Ask you what?”

“Anything you wanna know.” He pulled out a twenty and let his green eyes roam over her, making her feel strangely…naked. Her mouth went completely dry when he nodded to her tray. “I’m getting hers, too.”

“What? No, you’re not-“

“Too late.” He grinned at the cashier, who shook her head as she counted back his change.

“You’re holding up the line, let the people in back of you get their food.”

“But-“

“You can buy this young man lunch next time,” she suggested helpfully, leaving Betty dumbstruck.

“Thanks,” she hissed under her breath as she left the counter. She looked back over her shoulder at the two boys. “Thanks.” She turned away and headed for the back of the cafeteria, where she said she’d meet Nancy and Maria. She set her tray down on an empty rectangular table and laid her backpack on the floor under her chair.

“Think I missed the part where it says that I buy a girl lunch and she walks away from me without telling me her name.” He was back, without his friend. Cedric, she guessed, must have caught up to whoever their friends were. She wondered if they all were as stuck-up.

“Betty. Cooper.”

“Why do people always pause when they give you their last name? It’s like ‘Bond. James Bond.’” She snorted. “It’s like it doesn’t sound as important if you say all of it at the same time.” He mimicked her. “Betty. Cooper.” His voice rose to a tenor that undid her. She tried not to smile, but giggles escaped her.

“So what’s your name?”

“Blossom. _Jason_ Blossom.” He set down his tray and took the seat beside hers, craning his body around to face her. “The first name’s a big deal to me, the way I say it. It rolls off the tongue.”

“Oh, it does, does it?”

“JAY-son. C’mon, say it, go ahead…” He held up a hand to his ear, innocently waiting.

“Jaaaay-sonnnn,” she hummed. “Ahhh. It does roll. Nice.”

“Glad you agree.” His eyes were full of trouble, and her stomach fluttered. Dimly she wondered where her friends were. “Why’re you sitting all the way over here, by yourself?” he accused.

“Waiting for my friends.”

“All the hot girls are over there,” he said, glancing around and pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

“And this is important…why?”

“You belong with the other hot girls. Duh.” Cedric caught his eye briefly, and Jason diverted his attention from her to nod a quick _Gimme a minute_ , waving at him dismissively.

“The other hot girls, huh?”

“Sure. Are your friends hot?”

“I’m not a good judge of that.”

“Hey, that’s okay. If they aren’t, you get to be the leader of the pack.”

If he only knew how ludicrous that sounded.

Veronica was the “hot girl” in their group. Grade A, one of a kind alpha female, that was Betty’s best friend since kindergarten. Her face must have given her away.

“What? You’re hot,” he explained as though she was deficient.

“Please…you’ve got to be kidding.”

“Hey. The wallet doesn’t lie. I only buy lunch for cute girls,” he said, holding his hands up helplessly. She noticed that seemed to be a big deal to him.

His clothes screamed money. Real money, the kind that meant you didn’t have to wait for things to go on sale or worry about shipping and handling. Betty wondered if his parents were as well off as Veronica’s. 

She also wondered if Ronnie had scoped Jason out yet. He seemed like he was in her league. His boldness and sharp humor made her feel awkward and put on the spot. But that didn’t stop her from leaning in toward him whenever he spoke, plunging her straw into her milk carton absently. So far, she hadn’t eaten a bite.

“Heyyyy, chica, que paso!” Maria called out as she hurried over to the table with her bagged lunch and large tote. “Daaaang, Betty, what did I miss?” She nodded at Jason in approval. “S’up.”

“Hola, mami,” he offered smugly.

“Oh no, he didn’t! You speak Spanish? Ayyy!” she crowed. Betty chuckled and blushed, and Jason was clearly entertained.

“Y tu te llamas?”

“Maria,” she told him, rolling the R. She struck a hair-flipping pose and hung on Betty, using her as a leaning post. “So what’re you doing, hiding over here with my homegirl?”

“Trying to get her phone number,” he said simply.

“Ayyy, no te llores, papi! Quieres mio, eh?”

He merely smiled. Maria amused him. She was built just as well as Betty, making him think she really was holding out on how good-looking her friends were, but the girls were a study in contrasts. Maria Rodriguez was olive-skinned and had long, glossy brown hair with crimson highlights and a lick of blond in her bangs. A natural beauty mark over her lip drew his attention to her mouth, glossed in deep raisin. She wore a short argyle skirt and knee socks, Mary Janes and a snug black sweater. Black rubber bracelets laddered up her wrists, and a silver loop adored the crest of her left ear. She cracked her gum at him.

“Nancy said she was coming in a minute.”

“What’s keeping her?” Betty asked, trying not to be rude to Jason, but Maria was enjoying the attention too much to leave.

“Chuck. What else?”

“Ah. Chuck.”

“Chuck?” Jason asked cluelessly.

“One half of Chuck and Nancy. Just call him Mr. Nancy, and you’ll have it right.”

“Not to be confused with Sid and Nancy?”

“Um…no.”

“Good thing, then you’d really have something to be worried about with her showing up late.” Behind him, Cedric stared in Jason’s direction, wondering what was keeping him. He opened his bottle of sports drink and drank half of it in three deep swallows. Betty watched his Adam’s apple with the gesture. He had a nice neck, corded with muscle. Not staring was impossible.

As if on cue, Betty turned when she heard Nancy’s barrel-chested “Hey, giiiirrrl, gimme some love.” She bent down and gave Betty a one-armed hug. Betty smirked.

“This is one half of Chuck and Nancy.”

“Nancy, I presume,” Jason offered.

“One half of…aw, hell naw, she didn’t just call me one half of Chuck Clayton.” 

“Clayton? Coach’s son?”

“Don’t think it hasn’t gone to his head,” Nancy sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Not for long. I played center last year and tore it up.”

“Tell that to Moose, then. He’s always played center,” Nancy tossed back. She sat down on Betty’s other side, making Maria choose the seat across from them.

“Has anyone seen what’s good for lunch?” Betty looked up and met Sabrina’s flushed face. She looked out of breath. “The line’s too long!”

“You’re not missing anything,” Betty told her. The platinum blonde threw up her hands.

“Great. I should have just packed something.”

“Here, chica.” Maria handed her a plastic bag of Oreos; Sabrina thankfully dug into it.

Jason wondered if he landed on a gold mine. No wonder she didn’t want to elaborate on her friends. But Sabrina was more intimidating. Her look was edgier than Maria’s, less street, more Goth. Her eyes were such a pale, clear blue that her irises appeared to only be ringed in that color, emphasizing a soft shade of gray. She used black eyeliner with a heavy hand and smelled like essential oil. Her pert nose was sprayed with a few freckles, and she held her shoulder-length pageboy back from her face with a slim black headband, the kind he’d seen his mother wear in an old photograph. If her outfit amused him, he stayed uncharacteristically mum. He hadn’t tested the waters yet on how much he could dog them yet, since Betty was still unexplored territory.

He _so wanted_ to explore her territory…

Jason was used to seeing Raggedy Ann striped tights on some of the hippie chicks at Pembroke’s Saturday farmer’s market where his mother bought her organic fruits. It was weird seeing a pair of them up close, stretched over a lithe pair of legs and topped off with black Converse sandals.

Nancy was talking to him… _at him_ , leaning her hip against the edge of the table and folding her arms over her chest. “So what’s up? What’s your story? Where are you from?” she demanded. Her dark eyes held a no-nonsense glint that worried him.

“Ah…Pembroke.”

“Dang…must be nice to have it like _that_ ,” she marveled with a whistle. She gestured to him and announced “Pizza on Jason after school!” Betty flushed.

“Nance,” she murmured. Her blue eyes pleaded with her: _Tone it down. Sheesh._ Nancy smirked, swatting her.

The noise in the cafeteria swelled in volume, and Jason stood up, taking his sports drink bottle with him. He watched Betty expectantly.

“What do you have next period, Betty Cooper?”

“Bio. With Flutesnoot.”

“Too bad. I’ve got Spanish.” He winked at Maria, making a clicking sound with his back teeth. 

“Papi _chulo_ ,” she purred with another crack of her gum. She gave him a wink for added effect.

“What’re you doing after school?” His eyes were fixed on Betty, watching her mouth. She licked her lips reflexively and cleared her throat.

“Nothing yet.” But before she could continue that thought, Veronica’s shrill greeting assailed them all.

“BETTY! You didn’t tell me you were gonna be all the way over here! I was waiting in the quad!”

“I texted you after homeroom,” Betty reminded her. Veronica walked around Jason, ignoring him and blocking Betty’s view of him as she set her books down on the table.

“Archie asked me where we were sitting, and I felt like an idiot when you weren’t there! Thanks a lot, BFF!” And there went the pout.

Jason looked confused for a moment as he stared at the new arrival, wondering why the brunette looked and sounded familiar. “Ah…hi.” Ronnie turned and appraised him coolly, wondering how he rated the privilege of interrupting her.

“Do I know you?”

“You might. Ever go to Pembroke?”

“With those posers? Please,” she tsked, wrinkling her nose. He rocked back on his heels, scowling.

“With _who?_ I know you didn’t just call us posers, little townie girl.”

“Daddy wanted to send me there. He said all of his associates sent their kids there because your little school supposedly had higher standards,” she gloated. “I’m so glad I didn’t end up in that dump.”

Betty, Nancy and Maria watched the conversation like a tennis match. Sabrina occasionally peeked over the edge of her copy of Julius Caesar, intrigued.

“ _You’re_ calling Pembroke a dump? Who’s your dad?” he demanded, as if that made a difference.

“It doesn’t matter who my daddy is. I’m Veronica Lodge.” He took a different tack.

“Veronica Lodge. I’m impressed.” He nodded at her outfit. “Nice necklace.”

“Glad you approve.”

“It looks better on my sister.” She drew back in disgust.

“No, it _doesn’t_. She’s probably wearing a knockoff.”

“Go ahead and ask her.” He turned away and cupped his hands around his mouth. “HEY, CHER! C’MERE!”

A statuesque redhead in a mint green sweater and very short, white skirt turned at the sound of his voice, ignoring Jason’s friend Cedric. She slung her purse over her shoulder and made her way to their table, and Betty immediately felt…dowdy.

It just wasn’t fair. She was frickin’ perfect. She had her brother’s green eyes and titian hair down to her shoulder blades; her skin was the perfect porcelain white that only accompanied a natural redhead, not a freckle in sight. While Betty was content with her own figure, just athletic enough, just curvy enough, Cheryl Blossom’s was, for lack of a better term, genetically gifted. Betty crossed her arms over her ribcage and tried not to stare at Jason’s sister’s thirty-four D’s, but her snug sweater made it impossible.

_Damn it._

“What do you want _now_ , darling brother?” She stared at the occupants of the table, not bothering to make any introductions.

“Veronica was just asking if you have a knockoff of her necklace.” He nodded to Ron, and his sister’s eyes narrowed.

“Please,” she snapped. “Knockoff, my ass. If you got that stateside, then yours is the knockoff, sister.”

“Who got anything ‘stateside’? My parents took me to Milan last summer, genius. This is Donatella Versace.”

“I know that. I have the earrings that go with it. But I bought mine _last season._ ”

Aaannnd the gloves were off…

“That’s why I’m not wearing it now,” she finished. Veronica looked ready to leap across the table and throttle her; Betty recognized the look in her eyes that indicated Cheryl had gone too far. She turned to Jason. “Why are you all the way over here with the riff-raff? I’ve been waiting for you this whole time with Ceddy. I thought I’d lost you, but you were just hiding out in the boonies.”

“Don’t mind her,” Jason explained to Betty, “Cheryl can’t even find her shoes in the morning without GPS.” Cheryl squinted at him and stuck out her tongue.

“Dumb ass.”

“You should get a shoe tree,” Veronica suggested nastily. “Keeps them from getting all jacked up from wearing the same pair all the time.”

“I have five of them,” Cheryl sniffed.

“Five pairs of shoes?”

“Five trees. I needed the extra shelves in my walk-in closet for my purses,” Cheryl informed her. She sighed, already bored, and ignored Ronnie as she reached into her purse for some gum. She handed Jason a piece of Trident, which he popped into his mouth. He glanced down at Betty, glad to get her attention again.

“About those digits…”

Cheryl cut him off again with, “Who is THAT?” Her hand rose to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear and she smoothed it over her skirt, too. All of the girls at the table followed her finger as it pointed to the register.

Archie was paying for a mini-pizza and bottle of Power-Ade, unaware that he was being watched.

“Who do you mean?” Veronica asked through gritted teeth.

“The one wearing the hell outta those 501s,” Cheryl clarified. “Not fancy, but not bad.” Her lips curled, making her look like a hungry cat. “Mommy likey.” Jason stared over at him and made a noise in his throat.

“Andrews! Please!”

“No…Andrews, _please!_ I want me some of that.”

“No accounting for taste.”

“You’ll have to keep on wanting, then,” Veronica piped up. “He has a girlfriend.” Cheryl frowned, disbelieving.

“Bullshit. A guy like that has to be single; he’s too hot for just one girl. Except me,” she bragged.

“Dream on,” Veronica hissed. She rose from the table and marched toward the register. Archie looked up from the condiment counter, where he was grabbing a few packets of ketchup.

“Hey, Ronnie, I… _mmmmmph…_ ” Veronica fisted her hand in the collar of his rugby shirt and leaned up, dominating his mouth in a kiss that made Betty burn with jealousy. Cheryl wasn’t impressed.

“Cute. That’s cute. She calls that a kiss?”

“She could do better,” Jason shrugged, “even for a townie like her.” Then Jason peered down at Betty again and scowled.

She looked like someone ran over her dog. She was staring at Andrews, a complete wingnut, like his dick spouted maple syrup. Archie, in the meantime, looked dazed when Veronica let him up for air.

“Hey, Ronnie.”

“Hi, Archiekins.”

“Are you gonna let me breathe now?”

“Okay. We’re sitting over there.”

“I’m meeting Jug.”

“Then lead on.” She twined her hand through the crook of his arm and followed him to a table by the corridor.

“Maybe you could do better than a townie like me, then,” Betty told Jason, finally standing, losing interest in her lunch. She tucked the granola bar into her purse and skirted around him. “Thanks for buying.”

“Betty-“

“Bye.” She was off like a shot.

“Day-um. DIS-missed,” Nancy grunted. She reached over and fed Chuck one of her fries.

“That’s cold, bro.”

*Notes: If you don’t know Spanish, Maria was telling Jason “Don’t cry!” (No te llores). “Chulo” means “cute.”


	6. Be Aggressive!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheerleading tryouts. For some, a walk in the park; for others, a torture worse than bamboo shoots under the fingernails…

Author’s Note: Time to cringe!

_C’mon, c’mon, two more minutes, c’mon, just two more minutes…_ Betty’s stomach was doing flip-flops…no, back handsprings, she corrected herself. She had to get in the zone.

_Tryouts._ The huge posters scrawled in huge, blue and gold block letters beckoned to Betty and every other freshman, sophomore and junior girl with guilty, hidden stashes of _Sweet Valley High_ books in the backs of their closets, or girls who’d spent years in dance school and gymnastics camps every summer. This was it. This was the one chance at the perfect yearbook photo, the ringside seats or front row of bleachers at every game, both seasons. Homecoming queen? She who holds the pom-poms, wears the crown; it was an unspoken rule. If you wanted to be _noticed_ , you cheered. Sure, any other extracurricular was fine if you wanted to get _involved._ Betty already scribbled her name on the signup list for the school newspaper, right below Dilton’s. A spot on the girls’ volleyball or basketball teams was hers for the taking once tryouts began, but _cheering…_

She had all of the cheers memorized from junior high games, stamping out the rhythms with her feet in the bleachers next to Ethel and Midge. Veronica begged off, claiming it got in the way of her figure skating lessons and her sessions with her private tennis coach, but she added insult to injury, citing “What’s the big deal? It’s not the same as high school, Betty. *tchhh* It’s so… _lame._ ” The wind died from Betty’s sails, and she wavered, finally deciding to walk home, head hanging down, convincing herself that it was a stupid idea, anyway…

Watching the girls the school picked and posted on the list outside of her history class made her slightly ill. Some of them were the girls she wasn’t particularly fond of, but a handful were decent enough, who had bigger talent than egos. Betty congratulated Midge and was surprised and impressed when Nancy breezed over to give her the news.

“When you’re hot, you’re hot!” she crowed, belting out one of Betty’s favorite cheers and giving her a hip-bump. Betty giggled. “Giiirrrlll, where WERE you? You should’ve tried out!”

“I didn’t wanna waste my time,” she reasoned. “I don’t know.”

“Pffffttt…if they could take Veronica, then why not you?” Nancy accused. Betty’s head jerked up and her eyes widened, and she felt her jaw drop open. “What? You didn’t know Miss Thang tried out?”

“She…shit. No.” Confusion bubbled in her stomach and her pulse sped up, just before she broke out in hot prickles. “She never said anything. Shit. Shit, shit, shit…”

“What’s the matter, then?” Nancy shrugged.

“It’s just…I _wanted_ to try out!” Betty hissed indignantly. Nancy’s right brow lowered and her mouth twisted into her signature pout. She rolled her eyes and threw up her hand.

“Then you SHOULD have, girl. Damn…you should’ve talked to me, I would have gone with you! Even Ethel hung out with me, we just chilled out until it was our turn.” As though she heard her name, Ethel materialized by Betty’s elbow.

“Hey,” she greeted cheerfully, then let her smile falter as she saw Betty’s scowl. “Whatsamatter?”

“Ron. She’s just so… _Oooooooo!_ She told me she wasn’t trying out.”

“She was one of the first girls there,” Ethel muttered. “Practically shoved the rest of us out of the way. She was actually pretty good. Wish I could do gymnastics,” she sighed. “I know all the cheers backwards, forward, left, right, up and down, but do I get in?”

“Try again next year,” Nancy mused. “Shoot…you too, Bets. We can be homegirls and tear it up in our little sweaters, shakin’ the pom-poms…” She mimed exactly that, then broke into a sexy dance, chest thrown out. “You ug-lay, what-WHAT, you UG-lay!” Betty laughed despite herself.

It took an act of congress not to take Ron to task for keeping mum about her plans. She knew it was probably bad form not to congratulate her more; in fact, Ronnie was slightly miffed that Betty wasn’t more effusive and pretty much ignored her as she gushed on about making it onto the squad. The next two months of Fridays were hell, watching Veronica sidle up to Archie by the bench whenever she could sneak away from the other girls. Betty felt like she drank sour milk. That should have been _her_ in the snug blue sweater and short pleated skirt.

So that was that. Betty had a plan of attack.

Her musings were interrupted by the drone of Miss Grundy’s voice suddenly changing pitch.

“I expect you all to have read the next five chapters of _Gatsby_ by Thursday,” she informed the class. “No excuses. There will be essay questions on the test; I’ll know if you only skimmed it, and I won’t tolerate Cliff Notes.” There were a few awww’s that were suddenly cut short by the blare of the final bell.

“Yes!” Betty hissed as she hurried to her feet. She caught up to Maria as the students began shuffling and filing out the door. Maria elbowed her and grinned. 

“I’m so psyched, Betty!”

“Man, I know. I can’t wait, Ican’twait!” The happy fizz of anticipation was back and she had goosebumps. Maria companionably linked arms with her as they waded through the crowd toward the field house. Then she chuckled as she spied Midge and looped an arm through hers, dragging her halfway backward away from Moose as she held court with him.

“Andale, chica! C’MON! VENGA!”

“ACK! Okay, okay! Sheesh…” Moose smirked, then darted after them long enough to drag her back for a quick smooch.

“Ew…get a room,” Maria said, wrinkling her nose. “That’s enough, that’s enough, boyfriend, go-go-go.” She shooed him away and they continued their jaunt. Slowly the foot traffic changed in the corridor as more girls broke away from their lockers and started heading in the same direction, like salmon swimming upstream. Betty’s stomach knotted up even further as she noticed several girls from her gym class and previous dance classes joining the tide. The chatter and giggling became deafening as they entered the gym and began to fill the bleachers and set down their books.

Miss Phlips and Miss Grundy soon entered the room with clipboards and printed, stapled sheets. 

“Wow, big turnout this year,” Miss Phlips pointed out. “Hey, ladies.” She received a few return greetings and chuckled. They’d have their hands full.

“Okay, ladies, here’s the drill,” Miss Grundy barked, “we’re heading outside. We’re going to use the small field because we’ve been ousted by the soccer team.” She heard several tsks of disgust and boos and smirked. “C’mon, now, it’s nice outside, let’s get some fresh air. But first, I’m going to hand out these cheers. Get to know them. Eat them, breathe them, sleep them. We’ll want you to have all of them memorized and three of them rehearsed for Friday.” She began passing them out quickly, wanting to avoid the stampede if she told them to come up and get them. They were snatched out of her hand as quickly as she could select each stack. Ethel darted into the gym, slightly out of breath, and she nervously joined Betty up front.

Several minutes later, just as the lacrosse team drifted inside and Coach Kleats began eyeballing the bleachers, Veronica sauntered inside.

“Where are we going?”

“You almost missed out. We’re headed to the field,” Miss Grundy pointed out. “Try to be early every day, it helps us get a head count.” Veronica took a cheer sheet and looked contrite.

“Sorry, Coach,” she offered. Miss Grundy coordinated the cheerleading squad as their advisor every year, even though she wasn’t the choreographer. She mentally rolled her eyes at Veronica’s familiarity. The girl sure was confident…

Just as they began to exit the gym, Cheryl arrived, strolling in just as indolently. She noticed the other girls holding onto their sheets. “Where can I get mine?” she demanded. Miss Phlips huffed and handed her the final copy.

“You’re lucky; if I’d have run out, you would have had to share. We’re at the field.”

“Crap,” Cheryl hissed under her breath as she turned away. She didn’t want her new mule heels to sink into the grass. 

“Language,” Miss Phlips reminded her anyway.

“Sorry…can I run get my sneakers?”

“Hurry.” She held back from saying that she should have had them on in the first place. Cheryl wasn’t dressed for tryouts in her ridiculously short skirt and top with its camisole straps, anyway, both of which pushed the limits of the school dress code. Cheryl ignored her and sauntered slowly to the girls’ locker room, making Miss Phlips sigh raggedly in her wake.

“Acts like she owns the place,” Miss Grundy muttered by her shoulder. Miss Phlips peered up at her and grimaced.

“So it’s not just me. We’ve always got to have one, every year…”

“Why can’t they all be like those three?” Miss Grundy nodded to Betty, Nancy and Ethel as they sat chatting and scribbling in notebooks or skimming chapters from novels.

“The Blossoms of the world are there to keep us on our toes and from living too long.” Both teachers returned to the chore at hand and began rounding up the girls into groups. The next half hour found them all memorizing the cheers and rehearsing them, sometimes to amusing effect.

Most of the girls didn’t notice that they were being watched from afar. Gradually the soccer team drifted out from the mouth of the field house a few at a time to watch the girls out on the field.

“Damn,” Harvey muttered appreciatively. “It’s like a candy shop over there.”

“Best week of the year, man,” Chuck agreed, punching him in agreement.

“You’ve got a girlfriend!”

“Yeah, but I’ve got two eyes! Chuckie ain’t dead, man!” Chuck toyed with the ball, dribbling it off his knees and elbows while he stared out at the field and admired the view.

All of the boys were suited up in their cleats, and a few were already dribbling the ball back and forth. But the longer they waited for Coach Kleats, the more they dawdled and grew distracted by the girls out on the field.

“Damn, Sam looks _hot_ ,” Bingo gawked. 

“Her dad’s an asshole,” Chuck reminded him.

“Who cares?” Samantha Smythe’s dad was legend in his neighborhood. He was like a grown-up version of “Chet” from _Weird Science_. “Be still, my heart!” he pronounced, clutching his chest. The slim strawberry blonde was practicing the steps for a simple-looking cheer, and Bingo pictured her in a short, pleated blue-and-gold skirt. The thought made him drool.

Some of the girls noticed they were being watched and began to show off. Several of them practiced jumps and back handsprings, and a handful of them exaggerated the choreography of the moves, throwing in a shake of the hips that wasn’t written down on paper.

Coach Kleats finally came out and blasted their ear drums with his shiny silver whistle.

“Eyes front!” he bellowed. “Ten laps. Then fifty pushups.”

“Awwww! COACH! Aw, mannnn!”

“Keep your eyes in your heads. If I see any lollygagging and if you guys keep staring out at that field of girls, you’ll get another ten laps. Hustle!” He clapped his hands and sent them grumbling around the gym track. They would take the rear field once their warm-ups were finished, but in the meantime, at least he could keep track of his team while they were under one roof. Coach sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t envy Grundy her job, wrangling that many females and pacifying that many egos. Teenage boys were hardheaded, but they were uncomplicated.

At the other end of the field house, the football teams drifted out into the corridor from the locker room. Floyd Clayton did a brief head count and started bellowing names from his clipboard.

“Andrews!”

“Here, Coach!”

“Blossom!”

“Here!”

“Chisolm!”

“Here!” Adam beamed like it was his birthday.

“Fogarty!”

“Here, Coach!” Fangs transferred back to Riverdale High from the vocational academy once he realized his only options to major in were mechanics, upholstery, or cosmetology.

“Mantle!”

“Right here, Coach,” Reggie piped up with a cavalier wave. He didn’t spare him more than two seconds before peering into the trophy case in the hall to check his reflection. Floyd sighed and rolled his eyes. He was gonna have his hands full with that boy, and he was only a freshman.

“Mason!”

“HERE!” Moose bellowed, stirring up a ripple of laughter from his teammates. It was a daily ritual.

“Power down. Save your outdoor voice for outdoors, son. Don’t make me warn you again.” Moose’s cheeks turned slightly pink and he rubbed his nape. Archie and Reggie traded smirks.

“Mayberry!”

“Ten-HUT!” Alan M. barked out of long habit. He was also in marching band, even though he was going to spend football season on the field, but he still had to go to Flutesnoot’s practices, too.

“Where’s Chuckie?” Archie murmured.

“His pop figured it was a conflict of interest to put him on the team he was coaching this year. When Kleats takes over for it, he’ll go out for varsity,” Reggie pointed out. “Sucks to be him.” In the meantime, Chuck was still keeping in shape for basketball season with soccer. It didn’t hurt that Nancy fed his ego, claiming that it gave him “big legs.”

The boys took the west field, directly next to the one the girls trying out occupied, much to the soccer team’s disgust. Several girls giggled at the sounds of cat calls and whistles.

“Damn,” Jason muttered. “It’s like Christmas came early.”

“Naw, man,” Archie argued with him, “you mean it’s my birthday.” Jason tsked.

“In your dreams!”

“You’re both wrong,” Reggie interjected. “They’re here to watch the Great One in action. Step aside.” He profiled for the girls who stared at him over the low, chain-link fence separating the fields. A few of them were fanning themselves.

“Fuckin’ townies, man,” Jason said under his breath, elbowing Cedric.

“Nah. None of ‘em are more full of shit than Mantle,” his best friend pointed out. Then he murmured to him, leaning in close, “but none of ‘em are worse than _that_ guy.” He nodded to Archie and sneered.

“What is it with him? What the hell, man? My sister thinks he’s the shit. I don’t get it. Seriously. What does she see in that guy?” As if on cue, Cheryl broke free from the rest of the girls and approached the fence, waving to Archie, who was enjoying the attention.

“Hey, Handsome,” Cheryl drawled, leaning her crossed forearms over the top of the fence so they created a display shelf for her breasts. Jason wanted to roll his eyes at his twin’s antics, but he smothered just as strong an urge to punch Andrews’ lights out for staring down her cleavage.

“What’s goin’ on, Cher?”

“I came to show these amateurs how it’s done,” she informed him coyly, twirling a tendril of her long red hair around her fingertip. Her catlike green eyes gobbled him up, and she ignored the daggers that two sets of eyes were staring into her back.

“What. The hell.” Veronica looked like she drank sour milk. 

“Uh-oh. Someone’s ‘bout ta get snatched bald-headed,” Nancy murmured to Betty. Betty only gave her half her attention as she silently fumed. “I know homegirl isn’t acting like she’s all that.”

“Who are you calling an amateur?” Veronica challenged, interloping on the conversation. Archie smiled at the sight of Veronica in her short shorts, looking cute, flushed and pissed off. Cheryl smirked.

“Take your pick. I see them for miles, sweet cheeks.” Ronnie looked too tempted to dig her fingers into Cheryl’s long red hair and yank for all she was worth. “But as for who…what was your name again?”

Cheryl narrowed her green eyes. “Read it and weep, bitch.” She did an about-face and strutted off, leaving Veronica to smirk after her. Cheryl then turned and blew Archie a kiss for Veronica’s benefit.

In a flash, she leapt back into a perfect triple handspring and landed in a one-hundred-eighty degree split.

Ethel whistled. “Wow. That does it for me. I’m out.”

“Show-off,” Veronica hissed under her breath. Betty watched gloomily as the boys watching Cheryl over the fence began hooting and whistling their approval. Cheryl lunged up and waved, giving silly little mock curtsies.

“Can I go home now?” Ethel murmured meekly.

“Uh-uh. I’m not in this alone. I need you to back me up! And it’d rock so hard if we both made it,” Betty informed her, jabbing Ethel’s arm.

“Um…ow.”

“Don’t be a wuss.”

“I’m not a wuss. My allergies are just acting up.”

“What are you allergic to?”

“Making an ass out of myself in public.” Before Ethel could elaborate, Miss Grundy blew her whistle again.

“Practice, girls! Ignore the peanut gallery over there,” she said, nodding sternly to Coach Kleats, who began rounding up his hopefuls and herding them away from the fence.

“Awwww!” Their chorus was almost pitiful. Betty was disappointed but secretly relieved that hopefully, she wouldn’t humiliate herself, either. She caught Archie’s eye briefly and waved, giving him a bashful smile. He grinned back before heading for the field. The warm fuzzy sensation that rose into her cheeks turned to mortification as the voice she despised rang out, “I thought this was a cheerleader tryout, not a bake-off, Betty Crocker!” Reggie leered, showing off and strutting around, pantomiming cheerleader moves that were as embarrassing to watch as if she were doing them herself. “Oooooo! Go, team!” he sang in an annoying falsetto.

She glared at him, but her lips twitched.

_Want…to kill…mustn’t…laugh…_

“Asshole,” Ethel hissed under her breath.

“Woo-hoo! Work it, Chicken Legs!” Nancy called back. “Need a little more junk in the trunk, baby!” An indignant half-scowl marred his face and stopped him in his tracks.

Betty’s laugh was strangled, and this time, welcome.

 

*

“Quit looking over there,” Nancy reminded her.

“Huh?”

“Hell-o?” Nancy nagged, shoving her. “Wake up, woman! Chop, chop! Let’s run through it again, so I don’t forget!”

“I’m lost,” Ethel admitted. “I don’t know half the letters.”

“You know how to do the YMCA,” Betty reminded her

“That’s only four.”

“Oh, get up!” Nancy snapped, yanking Ethel up from the ground by the arm with little effort, considering her skinny frame.

“Bully…”

“Cry me a river! Alright, here we go… BE! AGGRESSIVE! LET’S BE AGGRESSIVE!” Nancy barked the cheer out like a drill sergeant, spelling it out with sharp claps that could wake the dead. Several heads turned to listen and watch, surprise mingling with annoyance, but Nancy already had the moves down pat, too. “C’mon, girl, you’re turn,” she told Betty imperiously.

“I got it, I got it,” she muttered, assuming the stance. “BE! AGGRESSIVE! LET’S BE AGGRESSIVE! B-E! A-G-G! R-E-S-S-I-V-E! AGGRESSIVE! LET’S…BE…AGGRESSIVE!” She rapped out her claps and called out the cheer clearly but didn’t project as loudly, not wanting to draw as much attention. Sure enough, the other girls went back to ignoring their small group.

“Not bad,” Veronica sniffed. She had been practicing the moves by themselves, merely mouthing the words to all of the cheers, unconcerned with how her voice sounded to her friends. She provided next to nothing by way of constructive feedback or encouragement, even though she asked Betty a couple of times “Does it look better when I do this, or this?”

A few boys straggled near the sidelines of the field, shielding their eZAyes from the sun with their hands, peeking through the fence, making Betty and Ethel self-conscious.

“Cheryl’s gonna make it,” Jason decided as he watched them.

“Pfft…big deal,” Reggie told him. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

“Dad spent a grip sending her to cheerleading camp. I was just glad she was out of the house for two months,” Jason bragged.

“Whatever. Ron’ll get on the squad first. You watch. Her name’ll be first on the list.”

“Bullshit. Ron’s good, but she’s not that good.”

“The heck she’s not,” Archie argued as Kleats blasted his whistle for them to fall into line for up-downs. “She was on it at Riverdale Junior. She was awesome.”

“She sure thinks she is,” Jason scoffed.

“She is,” Chuck agreed. “Nancy’s gonna take ‘em both to school, anyway, but say whatcha want!” They broke into a hard run in place, then dropped to the ground each time the whistle blasted. After ten, they spoke in broken monosyllables.

They ran laps around the perimeter, and Reggie, Jason, Chuck and Archie bucked with each other to lead the pack.

“Look at Ethel. Man, that’s sad.” Ethel worked painfully through the moves of a new cheer. “Wish Jug were here to see this.”

“Grab a picture with your phone next time,” Reggie snickered back to Chuck. “Put it on YouTube!”

“That’d suck,” Archie tsked.

“It’d be friggin’ awesome,” Reggie sneered. “Can’t wait to show Jug how hot his girlfriend looks!” Reggie continued his mimicking falsetto tone. “Oh, Juggie! Look at my school spirit!” The rest of the boys chortled viciously despite being short of breath. “Look at meeee, Juggie!”

“Oh, God,” Ethel breathed softly, clapping her mouth over her hand. The color drained out of her face as male voices carried across the grounds.

“What?”

“They’re talking smack about me!”

“Ignore that shit,” Nancy tsked. “Rehearse!”

“I can’t! Not in _front_ of them!”

“Are you kidding? Hell, yeah, in front of them! Show ‘em where they can shove their football! Who’s bad ass?”

“You,” Ethel muttered.

“Nuh-uh, girl! YOU! Show ‘em! You too, girl!” Nancy told Betty.

“Me?” she said defensively.

“Yeah! Don’t sit up here like a wallflower! Don’t do this little ‘shy girl’ mess you always do. C’mon! Stand up straight, Elizabeth Cooper!”

“I am!” she argued, but Betty squared her shoulders more and stood a little taller, less for her own benefit than to prove Nancy wrong.

“Nah, nah…uh-uh. Work what God gave ya! Suck in that gut! Throw your girls out there!” Nancy puffed her chest out and planted her hands on her hips, giving Betty a brief neck snap. “Show these girls this is Betty’s house!”

“Geez,” Betty giggled. Ethel’s shoulders shook as she bit her lip.

*

The boys ran passing drills and kept peeking, earning extra laps and pushups when Coach caught them loafing.

“She’s such a priss,” Reggie muttered aloud. Silently he admired Betty’s moves, which were crisp and fluid, but they were just…too correct. 

Still…he expected that from her. Reggie was surprised she even went out for the squad. Betty had great school spirit, and she was outgoing enough, but she wasn’t a spotlight hog like Ronnie. He could barely hear her cheers from where he stood, but he occasionally snickered whenever Nancy got up and did the moves with her, rocking her hips into the steps. Betty was wholesome-looking in her pedal pushers and sneakers, hair caught up in her customary ponytail. The sunlight caught it, bringing out fiery gold highlights that held his gaze until he admitted to himself that he was staring.

There was such a sharp contrast between Betty and Nancy physically, and their personalities were so different, Reggie mused. Nancy was all sass, frequently a know-it-all and bossy as hell. Betty obviously didn’t mind being nagged, he assumed, especially when you took into account how much Ronnie led her around by the nose…

His eyes flickered back to Veronica. 

She was hot. Plain and simple. Veronica was in it for herself. She didn’t care about cheering anyone on anymore than Reggie himself cared about playing for his school. He was in it to play, _period._ For himself. End of story. He was the best, and he knew it. He watched Veronica drop down into a slow, smooth split, smirking at Cheryl’s sneer from across the lawn. _Hello, girlfight…_ Once again, Reggie wished he had his camera.

He snuck looks at Betty again. She was back to the same cheer, in the same voice, with the same correctness that made him shake his head. He almost pitied her.

Almost.

*

The next day, the first cuts were posted on the bulletin board outside the teacher’s lounge. A large throng of girls clustered around it, buzzing with gossip and sporadic screeches of outrage.

“Fifty girls?” Ethel said hopefully. “Too bad they aren’t keeping that many.”

“It’s cheerleading, Gumby. If you wanna hide in a nice big group, join the marching band,” Cheryl suggested helpfully.

“Maybe you should hide those black roots instead, Cheryl,” Ronnie countered sweetly. “Better do it before Friday.” Final cuts were two days away.”

“I don’t see your name at the top of the list,” Cheryl gloated.

“It will be on Friday when they make me captain.” Cheryl cut her green eyes venomously at her.

“You aren’t shit. No fucking way.”

“No, Cher…that’s the problem. You ARE shit. Don’t you get it?”

“The next person who says that word gets a citation for profanity,” Miss Grundy trilled. “Go. All of you,” she ordered, shooing away the girls who hadn’t stopped scanning the list despite the absence of their own names. Midge and Moose canoodled several yards away, and she looked smug and happy after finding hers.

“Those two are joined at the hip,” Betty mused.

“Don’t call attention to it,” Ethel said, disgusted. “So much more than I needed to see.” Moose leaned down…way down, since Midge was still relatively short, stopping her growth spurt at five-three, and he was huge in comparison. Their kiss was long and sloppy until Miss Grundy poked Moose’s shoulder to make them stop.

“It’s not fair,” Ethel grumbled.

“What?” You did your best.”

“YOU made it.”

“Sorry…”

“What? Pfft. No, Betty! It’s frickin’ _awesome!_ I hope you get it over Cheryl, I can’t stand her!” They headed to geometry and dawdled by the pencil sharpener.

The period dragged on. Betty took dutiful notes, copying Mr. Flutesnoot’s diagrams from the board until boredom forced her to doodle in the margins. Crooked little hearts scrawled with Archie’s initials above hers littered every other line, along with verses of different cheers. She had to get it, or she’d just die. _Die._

Something bounced off the back of her neck and landed on the floor. She fumed, knowing the culprit and wishing him a raging case of genital warts. A piece of college-ruled paper was folded into a neat football in the aisle. She ignored it.

Another one landed on her desk this time. Betty squelched the urge to tattle on him, knowing he’d just ream her for it once the bell rang…

_Who gives two squirts of piss? I should tell on his ass._ She eyed the paper, weighing the possibilities.

Curiosity won out. She unfolded it as she noticed lead scribbles and stifled a tiny sound of outrage.

“Something wrong, Betty?”

She sighed. “No. I’m fine.”

“Try to pay attention.” Flutesnoot turned back to the board and continued diagramming an isosceles parallelogram with congruent sides.

She should have known.

_Gimme a B…Gimme an E…_ A homely little stick figured with crudely drawn boobs and a ponytail stood holding stringy pompoms over her head. The punchline? _What’s that spell? LAME!_

She boiled with hatred for him. What’d Reggie know?

Really, what the hell did he know, anyway?

_I’m not lame! Asshole!_ She heard a faint, masculine snicker behind her and decided it wasn’t worth it to crane her neck around and glare him into a grease spot. What bothered her the most was that on some level, she was worried.

…what if she _was_ lame? What if she sucked at the tryouts? She paused, contemplating the paper now crumpled in her fist. _No._

Failure wasn’t an option.

*

She ignored him completely in the hall, despite more of his nasal, high-pitched impersonations (“Look at ME! I’m CHEERING for RIVERDALE! I’ve got SPIRIT!”) as she cruised toward her locker. He lost interest, only enjoying it if he got a rise out of her.

She put away her math book and found her French text under a pile of gym clothes that needed to be taken home. As she checked her reflection in the tiny magnetized mirror hanging inside the door, she caught a flash of red hair and freckles over her shoulder.

“Boo!”

“You shit,” Betty snickered, turning to lightly smack Archie’s shoulder. He grinned.

“You reading love notes in class?”

“What love notes?” She frowned, clueless.

“The one you had in Flutesnoot’s.”

“Pfft…yeah, right. Reggie’s a jerk.”

“What’d he do now?”

“What does he usually do?”

“Act like an ass?”

“Ding, ding, ding, ding!” she crowed. “He gets a prize!” She shoved the note at him, surprising herself that she’d saved it. Archie glanced at it and made a face, shaking his head.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s full of shit.”

“I know,” she agreed hastily, but a tiny little voice nagged her despite Archie’s praise. Then it occurred to her: Archie was giving her a compliment. Kind of.

“You stoked for the tryout?”

“I feel a little sick,” she admitted.

“Whatever! You can do it.”

“I guess…” she waffled, rubbing her nape and automatically tugging at her hair.

“C’mon! You’re good. I saw you out there.” She flushed.

“No, you didn’t!”

“Yeah I did!” he teased, grinning. “You looked good.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Geez, Bets…you’ll get it. Don’t worry.”

“I am worried.”

His one-armed squeeze around her shoulders gave her a rush of warm fuzzies, bringing her close enough to him to smell his cologne. Her heart did that little skipping thing and she didn’t recognize her own voice when it came out, so much higher and girlier than usual. “I am!” she added.

“Goofy,” Archie told her. “You’ll be fine.” He released her in a gesture that ended in a playful shove before he took off. “Later, Bets.”

“Bye, Arch.” She knew she looked ridiculous staring after him, but he looked hot, so who could blame her.

“What’d he just say to you?” Ronnie demanded, sidling up to her and startling her out of her haze. Betty turned and smiled, but Veronica looked annoyed.

“Nothing. He was just being nice.”

“Nice about what?”

“The tryout.” That made Veronica smile with satisfaction.

“Big deal. He already told me he knew I’d make it.” Betty deflated. “He kissed me, too.”

_…why can’t you let me have this? Just this one little thing?_ Betty sighed heavily.

“Yay,” she muttered. “Reggie was being a dick. He wanted to make me feel better.”

“Reggie IS a dick. What else is new?” Ronnie sniffed. She looped her arm through Betty’s and tugged her along toward her next class. “Let’s go to my place after the tryout. I’m gonna show you my new boots I told you about.”

“Wear them tomorrow.”

“No,” Ronnie argued. “Not to school. Mom already said she’d kill me if I wore ‘em here. They’re suede and they cost a grip. But you can come see them.” She pronounced it as though she were giving Betty a pint of blood.

“That’s fine. Let’s get ice cream, too.”

“I guess,” Ron said, wrinkling her nose. “Why?”

“I feel like some. And it’ll make me feel better if I mess up.”

“Whatever,” Ronnie told her flatly. “I don’t plan to mess up. Neither should you.” She reached over and tugged the note from Reggie from the flap of Betty’s French book. “Geez…that’s messed up.” She giggled over it. Betty wondered again why she was still saving it.

She snatched it back from Ronnie and pitched it into the trash as they turned the corner.

*

 

“Number seventeen,” Miss Grundy called out into the corridor. Betty’s heart hammered in her chest and her palms began to sweat. She leapt to her feet from the floor and fumbled with her number that was pinned to her tee. She tucked stray tendrils of hair behind her ears and smoothed her ponytail one more time before she entered the gym. Miss Grundy, Miss Phlips and Miss Haggly all looked up and smiled at her from their table.

“C’mon in, Betty,” Miss Grundy encouraged. “Excited?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t be nervous. Okay. First, do the cheer on the board.” Betty was relieved to see it was her favorite. She took a deep breath.

“Now?”

“Uh-huh. Go ahead.” She steeled herself, then let go.

“BE! AGGRESSIVE! LET’S BE AGGRESSIVE!” Her claps sounded like bullets, clear, sharp and loud, and her voice belonged to an alpha dog, commanding, in control and completely unlike her. She heard Nancy coaching her in her head and was gratified to see the women on the panel silently nodding and making notes. Outside in the hall, she thought she heard murmuring, even though the gym door was supposed to be kept closed during each audition.

She felt out of breath and spent, hoping her courage hadn’t run out when Miss Phlips thanked her. “All right! Time for the full-length routine. Start at the song.” She pushed Play on the boom box, and Betty assumed the beginning stance of the dance, taking another deep breath and focusing on the gym’s floor boards.

_I’m bad ass. I can do this. I’m. Not. Lame.”_

“Let’s Dance” by GaGa blared from the tiny speakers, and Betty threw herself into it. 

Reggie peered around the edge of the door during the opening chords, despite Maria’s nagging that he get lost. 

“Get outta here, ese!” she insisted, swatting him. “No boys!” 

“They don’t mean me,” he shrugged. 

“Don’t look in there!” 

“I wanna see Betty mess up,” he told her, not intimidated in the least. 

“Not today,” Nancy informed him. 

“Why? She chicken out?” 

“No. I said ‘Not today.’” Nancy didn’t bother to rephrase what she meant. Reggie ignored her, then went back to peeking through the crack in the doorway. 

Betty was kicking ass. She killed the routine, one move at a time, precise and in perfect rhythm with the song. He was baffled. That wasn’t Cooper. No way. 

Prissy old Betty never swung her hips like that. Never shimmied like that. Never isolated every muscle group of her torso like that in clean ripples so you noticed every curve. No more shy posturing; this Betty took hottie lessons from Ronnie or Cheryl. 

“Holy…” he muttered under his breath. 

“Wanna tissue?” Nancy offered helpfully by his elbow. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re slobbering.” She reached up with one pert finger and carefully lifted his jaw shut. 

The music clicked off so suddenly Betty lost her equilibrium. Betty stood and caught her breath, chest heaving and swiping her damp bangs back from her brow. 

“Not bad,” Miss Phlips told her. “You can go.” 

“Yeah…thanks,” she told them before practically staggering toward the exit. As she closed the door behind her, Miss Grundy peered over at her coworkers. 

_“Well?”_

“Do you even have to ask?” Miss Haggly asked dryly. “No-brainer, Geraldine. You just watched the same girl I did, right?” 

“Right,” Miss Phlips agreed, making a little mark beside Cooper, Elizabeth on her spreadsheet. 

Betty headed out into the corridor, where Midge, Maria, Nancy and Ethel swamped her. Ethel came for moral support and was first to squish her in a hug. “You. ROCKED.” 

“My heart won’t stop pounding. I can’t feel my legs.” 

“Girl, you tore it up,” Nancy told her, giving her a little elbow in the gut. Betty was distracted by the sight of a tall, dark-haired male heading out of the field house. 

“Was that Reg?” she asked, confused. 

“Pfft. Yeah. Peekin’, just like a dog.” 

“Shit. Hope he wasn’t watching me.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “What?” 

“Girl, please.” 

“Nancy…Nance. C’mon. Tell me he wasn’t watching me!” Betty’s stomach twisted in embarrassment. 

“You wouldn’t want your homegirl to lie, would you? ‘Course he was watching.” Betty’s cheeks flamed. 

“I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m surprised he’s not here talking smack _now._ Next time, kick him out!” 

“Won’t be any next time if you make it,” Nancy reminded her. Betty shot her a doubtful look. “Which you will.” 

She didn’t add that Reggie had walked away looking like he needed to make an adjustment. 


	7. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a pun. A pun! *ducks*

Author’s Note: I didn’t mean to let this lag as long as it has.

“Betty? How soon can you get over here?”

“Hey,” Betty greeted as she flopped back against her mattress and propped her feet against the wall. “What’s up?”

“I’m having a crisis. Bring over those black pumps you just bought.” Betty snorted.

“Why?”

“I can’t make up my mind. I need a killer pair of shoes, stat!”

“So go buy a pair.” It wasn’t rocket science.

“Can’t. Daddy cut me off. He just got the credit card statements and threw a shit fit."

“Which ones did he take away?”

“Macy’s. Victoria’s Secret. Neiman Marcus. Nordstrom. Everything except Target, Betty. This sucks,” Ron said sourly. Betty heard her take a bite of something and smirked.

“What’re you eating?”

“Shortbread cookies. Gaston made them.”

“Oooh.”

“Doesn’t that sound good?” Veronica plied. “You could stop over and have some.”

“You just want me to bring my new shoes.”

“I just wanna try them on.” Betty knew when she was being conned.

“What do you even need them for? You’ve got so many shoes, Ron.”

“They’re not the ones you just bought!” Veronica argued.

“I know. I _just_ bought them. Hello?”

“They’re perfect for the dress I just bought. We wear the same size,” Ron cajoled. “C’mon. Just once. I jut wanna try ‘em on. They’d go with my dress. Pretty please?”

“Pfffft… no.” Betty already felt herself faltering. But she was curious. “What dress do you need them for?”

“Homecoming. Hello?” Veronica sounded appalled that Betty had to even ask.

“Oooookay,” Betty retorted. “ _I’m_ wearing my shoes for homecoming.”

“Come on! What are you wearing them with?”

“My blue dress. The one with the black belt.”

“Oh.” The pause on the other end of the line was loaded. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Uh-huh.” Betty was proud of it. Miss Haggly let her work on the dress after school in the home ec sewing room, and she spent every waking minute slipstitching, hemming, buttonholing, basting and topstitching the dress to perfection.

“Aren’t those shoes going to be a bit ‘much?’” Betty lowered her feet and rolled to her stomach. She blew her bangs out of her eyes in exasperation.

“No. They’ll be perfect.”

“I don’t know. I’d have to see the dress again with the shoes. I’m just not feeling it.” Veronica gloated silently as she pictured Betty’s expression.

“Ron, the shoes go fine with the dress!”

“They’re not too dressy for it?” Veronica hedged, playing devil’s advocate. “You could almost get by with that pair of open-toed pumps your mom got you last year.”

“They’re _last year’s_ shoes, Ron,” Betty said in disgust. She felt slightly guilty. They were a perfectly nice pair of shoes, if she was going to church. They had a modest little one-and-a-half inch spool heel and were open-toed, just this side shy of a “comfort” shoe.

Her mother spent good money on them. Betty had only worn them a handful of times, so they were in good condition.

Veronica knew she was wearing her down. “The dress is cute,” Veronica assured her. “But it’s kinda casual.”

“It’s not that casual. Duh. I made it for homecoming.”

“I know you did. It looks like a homecoming outfit. It’s just not dressy enough for those shoes.”

Betty fumed. Suddenly her vision of her look for the dance lost its luster. “The shoes my mom bought will dress it down even more.”

“No, they won’t!” Ronnie assured her cheerfully. “They won’t be too much for the outfit the way the new ones will.”

“What are you doing with your hair?”

“I might wear it down. I’m thinking about a wash and set.”

“I might sleep on rollers the night before.”

“That’s old school. Why not just hit the hairdresser’s, or just have one come over to your house? That’s what I’m going to do.” Betty rolled her eyes again.

“Every shop’s going to be booked solid. I’m going to have to be my own Paul Mitchell for the night.”

Ron tsked. “That sucks. Oh, well.” She didn’t sound very sympathetic.

_All the easier for her to impress Archie. Bitch._

“I’m going to get some earrings to go with my dress,” Veronica bragged.

“You’re cut off.”

“I can work around that.”

“Let me know what you end up with.”

“You too. Good luck with the shoes. Later, Betty.” Betty glared at the handset after Ron hung up, then cradled it in irritation. Then she automatically got up and pulled her dress from the closet. She took out the box holding her brand new heels, and she stepped into them for a moment, sashaying around the room. They pinched a bit, but she had time to break them in.

She held her dress up against her self and stood in front of her full-length mirror. She stuck out her foot for emphasis. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Then she tried on the old pumps with it. _Hmmm… grrrr._

“Phooey,” she muttered.

Ron was right. The lower pump _did_ look better. Betty tossed the new shoes into the box and sighed.

Veronica never left her phone. Two minutes after they hung up, it rang again. She grinned as she said, “Hello?”

“What time do you want me to bring them by?” Betty asked sourly. Ronnie squealed.

“Now, now, now! YAY! This is awesome! You rock!”

“Don’t scuff them,” Betty warned. Then she smiled to herself.

She wouldn’t have to tell Ron that the shoes pinched a little.

*

 

“You’re so lucky,” Ethel groused. She slumped back against the bank of lockers while Betty dug her geometry book out of hers. “No one ever nominates me for anything. It’s awesome that you might get to be the sophomore attendant for homecoming.”

“So you’ll get in next year,” Betty shrugged. She patted her fondly and grinned. “But you’ll be all over the yearbook.”

“I guess.” It wasn’t much of a consolation to Ethel.

“C’mon, kiddo… 4-H? Home Ec Club? Chess Club? Student government?”

“And spring track,” Ethel chimed in. “I wanna beat my own record this year. I’m already the fastest miler in gym.” She felt slightly encouraged, but she envied her friend.

“I almost joined Chess Club. I didn’t have enough time this quarter.”

“Maybe when cheerleading’s over.”

“Basketball season next,” Betty pointed out.

“Gotta shake those pom-poms,” Ethel muttered.

“No, goofball. Gotta shoot those baskets. I’m going out for the girl’s varsity team.” Ethel squealed and jumped up and down.

“Omigosh! We’re gonna kick butt! I can’t wait til we play Central and Pembroke.”

“They’ll show you blue-and-gold girls how it’s done,” Jason sneered as he walked in on their chat. He leaned against Betty’s locker as she closed it and insinuated himself into her space. He smirked as he gave her the once-over.

“Dream on. Show us how _not_ not to make it to regionals?” Betty tossed back. She planted her hand on her hip and laughed. “Please! And you play for us now, anyway.”

“You can take the man out of Pembroke, but you can’t take Pembroke out of the man. So, Bets, how about it? Wanna Pembroke man in you?”

“Ew,” Ethel grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “No.”

“No one asked you, Q-Tip. No one would _ever_ ask you.” Betty’s amused smile evaporated.

“No,” Betty added. Jason slumped briefly, but he flashed a megawatt smile.

“C’mon, Cooper!” He followed her as both girls walked away. To his credit, he looked nice in a bottle green sweater that matched his eyes and some Sean John baggy jeans. “Who’s taking you to homecoming?”

“I was just gonna drive my dad’s car,” she sniffed. “Guess I’ll see you there.”

“I rented a limo.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Just for homecoming?”

“No. For the pre-party AND the afterparty. He grinned at her again. “What’re you wearing, Cooper?”

“Why? Wanna compare notes?”

“Give me a hint. If you look hot enough, I might let myself be seen with you.”

“She wouldn’t herself be seen with _you_ ,” Ron interjected. She gave him a fake smile. “She’s too good for you, wannabe.”

“You’re a wannabe,” he sneered, eyeing her up and down. Veronica was decked out in Seven jeans and a red Dereon shirt lettered in gold glitter. Veronica made a “talk to the hand” gesture.

“My dad’s renting me a stretch Hummer. Fuck off.” Betty frowned, but Veronica practically shoved her best friend behind her, all the better to get up in Jason’s face. Ethel sighed, unnoticed and amused. “Betty’s not interested in you, anyway, Howdy Doody.”

“You’re just pissed that no one’s interested in you, Snookie.” Betty’s shoulders quirked and Ethel turned away to swallow a laugh behind her hand.

“Please. That’s the best you’ve got.”

“I don’t have to waste the effort on you. You think you’re worth it, princess?”

“I know I am.” Despite her smug smile, Betty heard the indignant note in her voice, and the exchange grew more heated. Her stomach clenched nervously; she hated when her friends argued. Worse was when they _ignored_ her in the process.

“Who are you taking to the dance? Your sister?”

“We can double date with you and your daddy.”

“I wouldn’t let myself be seen with losers like you two, so no thank you.”

“Then you missed the point.”

“You had a point?”

“What’s going on?” Ethel and Betty each turned toward the sound of Dilton’s voice as he rounded the corner, nearly slumping from the weight of his Jansport backpack. Ethel blushed.

“Hey. Nothing new.”

“Same old,” Betty chimed in. “Got some light weekend reading there, Dilly?”

“Taking home a couple of references for my biology project. Mom didn’t want me staying too late in the library after school.” He shrugged sheepishly.

“So you’re taking the whole thing with you.” Ethel reached over and experimentally hefted his backpack. “Sheesh. Feels like it’s full of rocks!”

“I can manage it.” It was a comical sight, in light of how short Dilton was, but he took the strap down from his shoulder and proceeded to do arm curls with it, making both girls chuckle. They ignored the drama continuing behind them as Ethel pretended to fawn over his muscles.

“He’s the whole package, Betty, smart AND ripped.”

“Of course he is!” Dilton snickered and bumped Ethel playfully, and to Betty’s amusement, she bumped him back.

 _Aha…_ Betty glanced from one to the other expectantly. Both of her friends cleared their throats and moved away from each other. “Gonna jet,” Dilton offered, excusing himself. Betty felt momentarily guilty that she’d interrupted something important.

“…at least my hairdresser isn’t blind. That look doesn’t work for you _or_ Bieber; you look like a twelve-year-old girl.”

“Skank.”

“Asshole.”

Betty stepped in before Miss Grundy could intervene on their exchange, grabbing Veronica and pulling her along behind her by the elbow. “Math class,” she sang. “Bye, Jay.”

“Later, Bets.”

“Much later,” Veronica fumed, rolling her eyes. Betty winced at Jason’s loud tsk and muttered profanity in their wake.

“Why did you do that?”

“Don’t blame me.”

“You didn’t have to let your claws show. He was talking to me.”

“And now I’m talking to you, so what’s the problem? You’re _my_ friend.” Veronica made it sound like Jason Blossom was jumping her claim. “And don’t tell me you like him, Betty. He’s pond scum.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He’s not that _good._ ”

“How would you know?” Betty pressed, but she smirked.

“A woman knows these things, just like telling a Fendi bag from a knockoff.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without your guidance and expertise,” Betty deadpanned.

“What time are you coming to my house today?” Ron set her book on her desk as she sat and immediately swiveled around in her seat, craning over the edge of Betty’s desk to keep her attention. 

“I can’t stop by til after basketball.” Betty’s hamstrings were still sore from the day before after a grueling day of suicides and lay-ups.

“Skip it. We can head to the mall.”

“No,” Betty scolded, making Veronica pout.

“C’mon! Just once,” she whined, giving Betty puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t want to miss practice. I haven’t yet this season.”

“She looks pretty good out there,” Archie interjected from over Ron’s shoulder. He winked at Betty. “Could work on those three-point shots, though.”

“I am,” she told him indignantly, but her cheeks flushed. _He’s been watching me!!!_ Ron snorted.

“She should be cheering with me instead of getting all sweaty on the court.”

“You don’t mind sweat,” Archie reminded her as he reached out to tickle her side. Ron giggled. Betty almost gagged.

“Get a room…”

“I second that motion,” Jughead offered from Betty’s left, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You’re making me sick over here.”

“Crawl back into your hole, it isn’t spring yet,” Ron suggested.

“Says the girl who’s shaking her pom-poms instead of playing a real sport. Great lay-ups in that game with Central, Bets.”

“Thanks!”

“Still didn’t beat my high score,” a smug voice intoned from above her. Betty twisted herself around and scowled up into Reggie’s grin. 

There he was, right on cue, just like ants to a picnic… Betty sighed.

“Stick with pom-poms, Cooper.”

“When you learn how to rebound, Mantle.”

“Oooooo!” Jughead muttered. “Nice…”

“Go back to sleep, Needle-Nose.”

“Gladly.” Jug yawned and leaned back in his seat, tipping his cap over his eyes. He was fine with not getting involved, even though he still couldn’t stand Reggie. Betty was a big girl, and she could take care of herself.

“I don’t have to rebound when I’m already making all the shots.”

“You hog the ball!”

“No shit,” Archie chimed in.

“Then learn how to steal,” Reggie shrugged.

“Maybe your mom can teach me,” Archie shot back with a grin.

“Your mom already taught you how to suck!” Betty winced. Why did boys always take things too far?

“Sit!” Miss Grundy snapped. Reggie doubled back to his seat in the row to Betty’s left, one desk back. “You two know better than that. Don’t make me write you up, Reggie.” Archie smothered a snigger. “That means you, too, Andrews.” The class chorused back with a low “Ooooooo!”

“Get out your homework!” Grundy barked, and she immediately wrote the page and problem numbers on the board, chalk flying rapidly with loud clicks. “I hope you did the odd numbered proofs. If you did the even-numbered ones and just copied the answers out of the back of the book, say hello to a zero.” A few muted groans greeted her, and Betty smirked when she heard Moose “Damn it!” from a few seats back. Poor guy.

They were halfway through with reviewing the assignment, and Betty rapidly checked off her correct answers, then stopped when she felt something lightweight hit the back of her elbow. She watched Miss Grundy working on the board with chalk, drawing out a parallelogram and hash-marking the sides, deciding it was as good a moment as any. Betty reached down for the crumpled up piece of paper. She sighed; it was a ritual. She could just let it go and ignore it, but he’d just throw more.

At first she could figure out what he’d thrown her a gum wrapper, until she unfolded it and ready the un-shiny side. _You suck._

“You wish,” she hissed back at him. She heard his muffled snicker, and she hid her smile when Miss Grundy turned away from the board again to glare at them both.

“Save it for after class, you two.” Betty’s cheeks flushed. Jerk. No need to let him get her in trouble, too.

She was tempted to ignore the second note, which sailed neatly over her shoulder and landed in the seam of her open text. She snorted in disgust. Really?

You’re a worse shot than Andrews. Betty fumed. That was going too far. She wanted to stab him with her pencil. She felt indignant enough at him talking smack about her, but he had to tear down Archie, too, which was a bigger crime in her eyes.

She took diligent notes on graphing a slope when y equaled five, but she could feel his dark eyes on the back of her neck. She shivered, wondering why he was riding her so much lately; she hated his scrutiny, the kind that made you wonder if you had something on your chin or if your underwear was showing. She heard the low click of something plastic opening behind her, and she wondered if it was his box of Tic Tacs that he couldn’t seem to live without. 

She didn’t want to turn back, even though the urge to glare at him was strong. She tore her attention away from her notes and turned her face a few degrees until she could almost see what was over her shoulder with her peripheral vision. She saw a familiar trace of red before she jerked herself back around to face the front of the class. No. She wouldn’t let him get the best of her. Miss Grundy chose random victims to call on for each answer to the homework, and she found her own assignment in her thick binder, scribbled neatly in blue ink.

As soon as Miss Grundy turned her back to the class again and began sketching out two parallel rays on the board, a tiny object landed in her book again. Betty was about to go back and whoop up on him, until she noticed the projectile was a tiny, mint green capsule.

A wintergreen Tic Tac. She huffed.

“You’re welcome,” she thought she heard him mutter.

“Thanks,” she murmured over her shoulder, before she chanced a glimpse back at him. She smiled at him, knowing she’d regret it later. He smiled back. It almost made him look handsome…

You still suck, he mouthed.

Betty growled under her breath. “Something wrong, Betty?” Miss Grundy stared at her accusingly. Betty’s cheeks turned scarlet.

“No, ma’am.”

“What’s the answer to number eleven?”

“Hold on, let me look…”

“It helps if you pay attention. Forsythe, can you tell me the answer to number eleven?” Jughead rattled it off, surprising everyone around him, since he didn’t even open his eyes from his nap. Betty volunteered the answer for the next problem, and Miss Grundy was slightly pacified. She still wanted to kill Reggie; he was such a distraction.

The real question was, why? Did he just get up in the morning, pee, shower, eat his cornflakes, look in the mirror and say “I’m going to stick a bug up Betty Cooper’s ass today?” Why was she his favorite target? Why couldn’t he get a life?

It wasn’t like he didn’t have one. What she hated about him most was that… he just seemed to have everything. He didn’t have any need to pick on anyone else. He was well-off, good-looking, drove a nice car, was athletic, relatively smart, and everything seemed to come easy for him. He was horrible as a boyfriend, though, from all of the rumors she heard whispered in the girl’s room or the locker room. Reggie was known for not calling girls back after the fourth date. That always seemed to be his magic number for suddenly blowing someone off.

What annoyed her just as much was that he always seemed to go for the unattainable girls. Just like a rooster ruffling his comb, he always seemed to puff up around girls like Midge, who was off-limits thanks to Moose, or Ronnie, who cheerfully kept Archie wrapped around her finger. What was it about guys who did that? They never knew how to treat a nice girl who wouldn’t play with their minds. 

Betty thought about Jason Blossom, briefly. Who knew what his deal was? Reggie had money, and he flaunted it, but he didn’t talk about it. Jason was blatant about his admiration, but it just felt… off. He was attractive. Very attractive. He could have any girl, but he was singling her out, making her wonder why. Betty knew it was almost unfair to compare the two of them, but they reminded her of each other, the only exception being that Reggie elected her as his favorite victim from the moment they met, where Jason just wanted to show off to impress her.

It occurred to her as the bell rang: Why on earth was she still thinking about Reggie? Math class suddenly became forty minutes of her life that she wouldn’t get back. Mantle was lower than the dirt beneath her feet, a demon dressed in Abercrombie and Fitch. She popped the Tic Tac as an afterthought, almost not wanting to accept his generosity, but why not?

Why did he have to be such a jerk?

*

Betty Cooper was still too easy.

It was fun to watch her blush. For a moment, he felt a little guilty when he saw her smile. Damn. She was fine. He didn’t know why he had to get her goat that one last time, every time, why it was so tempting to get a rise out of her.

It always had been. It was even more fun when she was trying to ignore him and she failed. Once in a while, he’d bring her down to his level. He liked it when she snapped, unless things got too personal. Betty knew he liked Midge, that flirting with the brunette was one of his weaknesses, the shiny apple hanging from the forbidden tree. He hated it on those occasions when Betty saw Midge shoot him down, giving him that smug look, catching him when he failed. She didn’t look mean, but she did look pleased.

That was the other thing about Betty that tickled him. Around Archie, she was sweetness and light, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Reggie shook his head at the mental image. That wasn’t the Betty he wanted to see. When he teased her, she brought out the sass. He loved the way her brows drew together when he’d pissed her off, making that funny little divot between them. When Betty was irritated with him, she was real. She wasn’t trying to be someone else.

That “someone else” was the antidote to Veronica. Where Veronica wanted Archie to spend money on her, Betty was the one baking him cookies. She lent him her notes and hovered over him when he looked like he was having trouble in biology, whether he was her lab partner or not. It sickened Reggie. Girls always acted like Archie was “the nice guy.” Sure, he was easygoing, probably wouldn’t hurt a fly. Carrot-Top hung out with the “in crowd,” just like Reggie did, except he didn’t act like it was a big deal. Of course it was a big deal, what the fuck was wrong with that guy?

But under the surface, Carrot-Top was a user. He had a roving eye and kept looking out for the best opportunity to come around, no matter which one he already had in his hands. If Betty made him cookies, Veronica invited him over to a seven-course dinner made by a personal chef. What made it worse, though…

…was how he swept Betty Cooper under the rug. He was blatant at how he chased Veronica around. But with Betty, he was furtive. Sneaky. Subtle. He took her aside or he snuck up on her when she wasn’t expecting it. He’d taught her how not to expect it.

As much as Reggie wanted to pity her, he couldn’t. She had to snap out of his spell all by her lonesome.

So, in his own unique way, he was helping her. Wasn’t he?

If she kept jumping to Archie’s defense, and if he didn’t give her enough reason to keep doing it, she’d get tired of him. So, Reggie pranked Arch. It was fun, not matter what the reason. And he teased the seemingly innocent blonde, mocking her obsession. Would she think he was a dick? Probably. But girls were always intrigued by the bad boy.

In the meantime, she looked good. Basketball season was agreeing with her. Her body was leaner and more muscular thanks to rigorous practices and running endless laps, and her high, firm breasts and flat belly looked good in her snug raglan-sleeved blue jersey. Betty was no-frills, wholesome beauty poured into a pair of low-rise Levi’s. Her customary ponytail irritated him. It was too bland, too safe. He almost missed her braided pigtails from second grade. The pulled-back look was an offense to her long, thick, honey-blonde tresses, even though it let Reggie see her face, oval-shaped with classic, small features.

She hissed in surprise when he appeared by her elbow while she was at the water fountain. “You’re welcome.” The stream of water zapped her in the nose and she straightened up immediately, glaring at him. 

“*ptuie* For what?”

“The Tic-Tac.”

“Along with a bunch of nasty notes. I’m supposed to thank you for that.” She flicked away the droplet of water from the tip of her nose and found herself between him and water fountain, leaning in and snickering at her condition.

“That and for helping you wash your face. Fresh breath and squeaky clean.”

“Asshole.” She narrowed her blue eyes at him, but he saw a hint of amusement teasing the corner of her mouth.

“Going to homecoming?”

“What do you think?” She was nominated for the court, but she didn’t want to remind him. 

“What’s your mom dressing you in this time? Your old Holly Hobbie costume?” She fumed; that was what she wore to the third grade costume parade at Riverdale Elementary, and he’d teased her for weeks.

“None of your business. But I hope you remember to wear your Spanks under your suit.” He huffed as she lightly brushed past him, leaving a whiff of her light perfume in her wake. The brief contact made him tingle.

“Ouch,” he whined, clutching his chest like he was wounded.

She knew that wasn’t fair. Reggie was ripped. It didn’t matter. His trademark grin was still in place as he dogged her steps.

“Can I borrow a pair of yours?” he countered. “Since it’s a special occasion, Betty, is Mommy letting you wear your training bra?” Her eyes went round for a brief moment, and Reggie mentally pumped his fist. Score one for Mantle! Ding, ding, ding!

Until she raised her geometry notebook ominously, revenge writing itself across her features. Her cheeks were flushed again, but this time, she was out for blood. 

It was time to beat feet. He neatly ducked her attempt to swat him as he ran through the corridor, dodging the crowds of students trying to beat the next bell. Reggie couldn’t contain his low snickers at her expense.

He wasn’t expecting the rush of sneakered footsteps so close behind him, or angry, feminine gasps that were practically stirring the hairs on his nape…

Right. She’d been running laps.

His adrenaline spiked as he felt the rush of air when she narrowly missed swatting him with her spiral notebook. She was aiming for his ass! What the hell? Wasn’t Cooper supposed to be the nice girl?? She went for him again, but he ducked, forcing out a frantic laugh. “MISSED!”

“Ass…hole…!” she gasped.

“Still too slow!”

“I hate you,” she hissed as he evaded her again, turning around a corner toward the field house.

“Missed me! Missed me! Now you’ve gotta- OWWW!” He didn’t see Moose coming through the double doors ahead of him, shoving open the handle bar from his side as he was reaching for the one to pull. Before he could put on the brakes, Reggie was clobbered by the door. Pain exploded across the left side of his face and his hand, jamming back his middle two fingers.

To add insult to injury, Betty wasn’t expecting him to stop short. “Shit!”

Normally Reggie wouldn’t have minded a pretty girl running into him, but perhaps not quite so…literally. Painfully. Betty caught him inadvertently, but the momentum made her stumble backward.

“Ow,” Betty winced.

“Fuck,” Reggie muttered.

“Watch it!” Moose snapped, not the last bit apologetic, since he was running late to gym class.

“You! Detention! You, detention, too! No running in the halls,” Coach Kleats barked. “And you! Watch where you’re going next time!”

“I was,” Moose argued, throwing up his hands.

“Want detention, too?”

“Sorry,” he amended, nodding to Reggie. Instead of just offering him a hand to help him, he hoisted him up by the arm. “Wow. Aw, man, look at your face, dude.”

“Never mind my face,” Reggie groaned. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow…” he hissed as he cradled his hand protectively. Moose automatically looked more contrite than before, but he wasn’t expecting a light hand at his lower back, patting him comfortingly.

“Reg, let me see…oh, no,” Betty cried, covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s my fault! Oh my God, Reggie, I’m so sorry!”

“That’s what you get for rough-housing,” Coach muttered, but he sounded sympathetic as Betty reached for Reggie’s wrist, urging him to extend his hand. Her touch was gentle, but his fingers throbbed. “Wiggle ‘em.”

“Ow! OW!” Betty cringed.

“C’mon,” she told him. “Let’s go.” Moose dutifully followed them, retrieving Reggie’s math text from the floor.

*

“Simple sprain. Follow up with your doctor or the prompt care, young man,” the school nurse advised. “But no sports.”

“Aw, man!”

“Be compliant. If you hurt that hand again, it could mean a fracture.”

“We’ve got another six games this season!” he moaned. He banged his good fist against his knee. “That’s not fair!” His visions of a flawless record on his first year of varsity evaporated.

His cheek throbbed where his face hit the edge of the door, and he’d been too distracted by the nurse tending to his hand until she came back with a second ice pack. “Nasty bruise you’ve got.”

“Geez…” One little tussle with Betty left him looking like he’d been creamed!

“Rest that hand. Avoid carrying your backpack and books with it. No sports. Here’s a note to get out of PE if you need it, but the ice pack should be proof enough.” His fingers were still swollen and turning purple. Reggie sighed in disgust. “Go ahead back to your class. It’s sixth period.”

“Thanks,” he muttered sourly as he left, tucking the medical note in this pocket. He cradled his affected hand against his chest, carrying the math text in the crook of his arm, until he felt someone’s fingers prying it away from him.

“Here. Let me,” Betty ordered. Her blue eyes were contrite, and to his surprise, red-rimmed.

“I don’t know if I can trust you, Killer.” She winced.

“Reggie…I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Do they look okay?” He held up his hands and gave his fingers a brief, stiff wiggle. Her face crumpled.

“Oh, no!”

“Happy, now?”

“NO! I’m not! I didn’t mean for you to get hurt!” She knew how lame it sounded, when she booked after him, ready to clobber him not even twenty minutes before.

“Don’t you have to be in class?”

“I’ve already got detention,” she told him. That was the icing on the cake; he’d forgotten already that he did, too.

“Yeah, by the way, thanks.” It was laughable, though. Squeaky clean Betty Cooper? In detention? He snorted, more amused than irritated.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Yeah, yeah…” It was weird and awkward, letting her carry his book. He took it from her as soon as he reached his sixth period class. “Why’re your eyes all red?”

“No reason. You’re gonna be okay?”

It dawned on him: She’d been crying. Reggie frowned.

Fuck. Now he felt like a heel.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. See you in detention.”

She gave him an awkward wave and backed off. “Bye.”

Both of them felt guilty and frustrated.

*

Detention passed one torturous minute at a time. Betty was grateful, in a way, to see Jughead there before her, and he saved her a seat near him, nonplussed. He’d been caught eating in Flutesnoot’s biology lab again, which made Betty slightly sick.

Reggie studiously ignored her, a first. He was pissed enough not to even waste any more notes or other projectiles on her. She felt hot and tingly with shame, the sour emotion still sharp in her chest. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Why couldn’t I let it go? Her miserable thoughts kept her company for the next hour. She ended up skipping a trip with Ron and ended up missing her practice anyway; the day was a bust.

His poor fingers. They were still purple. His mom collected him from eighth period, took him to prompt care, and he came back with two stiff, gray splints lined with light blue foam. Betty shrank in her seat. I did that. 

Technically, Moose helped, but still…

Why wasn’t she happy? Wasn’t she trying to hurt him? Well, not really. A swat with a notebook didn’t count as homicidal instincts, did it?

Reggie fumed. This was a fine pickle.

He was out for half the season. That was killing him, anyway. But what had turned into a simple taunt went completely out of hand. He wasn’t expecting her to go after him like that; she hadn’t chased him since middle school, when he’d certainly given her reason to. But a remark about a training bra? Please. What was the big deal? Had he really offended her that much?

He sighed. Eh. Women. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made digs like that at her before. Like the time at the lake… he smirked at the memory. Or her “snow woman” that he helped re-decorate. Or tucking her ponytail into the slat of her chair so she was jerked back into her seat when she got up. Or “accidentally” making her spill a soda on her white tee shirt, so that it ended up transparent…

His fingers throbbed at him, interrupting his musings. For a one hundred-twenty pound cheerleader, she packed a wallop. Okay. Maybe he had it coming. Like, forever.

He glanced at her from across the room while she stared up at the clock. Yup. She looked miserable. Fuck.

She really didn’t mean for it to happen. In a way, this was karma. Karma sucked.

And as much as Reggie would never admit it, he hated seeing her cry. It kinda sucked that he ruined her perfect record of no detentions and made them both miss practice, when you thought about it…

He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind took him in unwelcome directions. 

*

Reggie made himself scarce when the final bell rang. “You’re free to go,” Mr. Wetherbee informed them crisply. “I don’t want to see you back here tomorrow.” Muted groans and mutterings greeted him as seats scraped back and backpacks were scooped up from the floor. He sailed out the door first, leaving Betty staring in his wake. She sighed.

I’m not supposed to be in the wrong. He’s the one who’s usually the asshole, she pondered. What the heck happened?

Ever the good girl, she longed to make it right, but Betty had no clue. She fell back on her old standby, something that always worked when Veronica was in a snit: Groveling. 

Betty darted out into the hall and shuffled through the small group of students making their way back toward their lockers in an attempt to catch the late bus. She caught sight of his sweater and black jeans, noticing his arm was tucked snugly against him, no doubt still cradling his bad hand. She half-trotted, half-ran after him, still not sure what she’d say to him.

The words chose themselves. “REG! REG, wait!”

“What?” he muttered, turning just as he reached the double doors that led into the courtyard. He looked annoyed as she caught up to him. “Don’t try it again, I need my other hand to pick my nose and scratch my ass, Cooper.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “Let me help.”

“You’re not picking my nose or scratching my ass. Thanks, anyway.”

“No, doofus. Give me those.” She took his backpack and beat his grab for the door handle, pulling it open and nodding for him to go through it. Reggie’s brow arched, but he obeyed.

“God, you’re weird.”

“Says a lot about you that waste your breath telling me what’s wrong with me every day, I guess.” She struggled to keep up with his long strides. “Where’s your car?”

“In the back. I can get it from here.”

“You’re okay to drive?”

“I can manage.” He knew his mom would have a cow when he got home, but he wasn’t in the mood to pacify her. Betty’s blue eyes looked guiltier than before, and he was tempted to cut her some slack. A little.

Very little.

But she kept up with him, and when he fished his car keys from his pocket and began fumbling with them, she took those from him, too, and unlocked the driver’s side. “What next? Are you going to sit on my lap and drive me home?” She flushed but tsked, giving him a “yeah, right” look.

“Hell, no. You wish.” She’d said that when he told her she sucked. She proceeded to set his backpack in the front passenger seat after she moved his sweatshirt and some envelopes out of the way.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. What did you think I meant?”

“Whatever. Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know, already. Sheesh.”

“Even if you did piss me off.”

“It’s not my fault you have a bad temper,” Reggie shrugged, but there was a glint of devilment in his eyes, and a smirk toyed with the corner of his mouth.

“Oooo!” She looked ready to slug him, but she threw her hands up in the air. “I give up. Never mind.”

“You give up? What were you trying to do? Apologize? I can kiss this year’s season goodbye.”

“So go shake pom-poms with Veronica,” she snapped. “That’s the only reason you play basketball, anyway, so you can hog all the attention.”

“Are you saying your best friend hogs all the attention?” Reggie said, surprised. Betty only realized what she said after the words hung between them.

“No. Yes. NO!”

“Sounded like it to me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Say what you mean.”

“You think your shit doesn’t stink.”

“It doesn’t,” he shrugged again. “And?” He watched her in confusion as she continued neatening his car, throwing out a used fast food cup and empty paper bag, two gum wrappers and Tic Tac box with the labels peeled off. “Quit messing with my crap!”

“You’ve got too much crap. And yes it does.”

“Does what?”

“Your shit does stink, Reggie Mantle.” She waved the empty cup at him accusingly before she stuffed it into a plastic bag in the back of his car. “I’ve never so much as breathed in your direction or looked at you funny, but all you do is get up in my face and on my back. Does that make you feel big and manly?”

“Please,” he sneered, but her words stung. “Ya wanna add insult to injury?” He held up his fingers as a reminder. “Nice job, Bets, but go for a broken arm next time, I want a sling to go with my outfit. It’ll look good when I’m on the bleachers.”

“Sure.” She threw up her hands again and backed away from him. “Fine.” Her tone was resigned, like she ran out of steam. She didn’t know what she wanted at that point. Her choice wavered between two extremes: Tearing Reggie Mantle a new one, or letting him throw rotten tomatoes at her with his good hand until he got tired. He couldn’t just accept her groveling. She snatched up the plastic bag before she left.

“Hey!”

 

“It’s trash. Clean out your car.”

“I meant the trash can’s over here,” Reggie reminded her. She stopped short, pissed at having her exit ruined, and she doubled back, giving him a little glare, and shoved the bag into the swinging lid. “Thanks,” he muttered after her. Reggie shook his head.

What the hell was that all about?


	8. Girlfriend Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Once you break the vase and glue it back together, the cracks still show.

“Hold still.” Nancy tugged a bobby pin free of the cluster that she had clamped between her lips and she secured a lock of Betty’s hair in place. Her voice sounded garbled; Betty wanted to laugh, but it was hard when her head was bent forward until her chin touched her collarbones.

“I’m trying.”

“Trah ‘arduh,” Nancy complained around the pins.

Betty sat on the toilet lid in her underwear, pantyhose and an open button-down shirt. Nancy hovered over her, similarly undressed and with her hair in hot rollers, diligently working on Betty’s agreeable blonde hair. They often experimented with it just for fun, often with mixed results, but Nancy had great artistic abilities and an eye for style, and if her best friend benefited from it, then all the better.

Betty escaped to Nancy’s house a little after five, as soon as she’d cleared the dinner dishes from the table and gathered up all of her supplies, ironed her dress and transferred her wallet, license, keys and favorite lipstick to the evening bag she planned to use for the night. She sighed as she tossed her old black pumps into the backseat of her car. If she thought about her favor to Ronnie too long, she’d just get pissed off.

Nancy pinned the third braid into place and dropped the remaining pins onto the vanity. She straightened up and stretched out a kink in her shoulder. “Phew.”

“My neck’s killing me,” Betty admitted. “Can I sit up now?”

“Yep. Take a look, girl, tell me what you think.” Betty rose from her seat and examined Nancy’s handiwork. 

“Omigod! That’s so good!” Betty took the small hand mirror that Nancy passed her, and she sat back on the edge of the sink, craning her head back to get a better look. “It’s nice, how do you get it so neat?”

“Practice, girl, and plenty of headaches. This shit ain’t easy.”

“You could make some money doing this.” Betty ran her fingers over the precise, inverted French braids that were the first step in her up-do. 

“I know. I do. Especially in the summer, when I go to visit my cousins over in Midvale and Central City.” She didn’t add that there weren’t enough Black people living in Riverdale who were interested in having their hair braided or pressed for her to make much money. Sometimes she had to step outside their comfy little berg to get ahead, and that annoyed her.

Nancy pulled on her boxer shorts over her tights for the sake of decency and headed down to the kitchen for a couple of sodas. Both of them were saving their appetites for the dance itself, since it also featured a bake sale in the lobby, and Betty planned to head to Veronica’s for her promised afterparty. 

“NANCY!” her mother called over the blare of her daughter’s boom box. “Turn that mess down, please!”

“Got it!” she called back, turning the knob back scant notches before she told Betty, “Okay, sit up straight.” The next half-hour was grueling, full of parting, pulling, detangling, curling and more pinning, with Betty hissing in discomfort every time Nancy accidentally poked her with the hot iron or let a bobby pin dig too deep. But the end result was worth it.

“That’s gorgeous. Get out of here, you did it!” Nancy successfully copied a style for Betty from one of her hair magazines, French-braiding it upside-down in the back, leading up to large, shining Grecian curls styled like the singer Selena’s, in a “flower.”

“This is going to look so good with that dress, girl.”

“Thank you so much!” She gave Nancy a hug that resembled a head-lock until Nancy swatted her away.

“Woman, you’re gonna mess up MY hair, back it up.”

“Can you do my makeup?”

“Let me do mine first,” she countered. “We’ve got an hour.”

The next forty-five minutes were a blur of sprinkling foot powder into pumps before hopping into them, straightening stockings, combing out curler lines, applying concealer and brushing on lipstick, inserting earring posts, and tucking bra straps back below necklines. Excess lip gloss was blotted up with Kleenex and checked for on teeth. They took turns looking each other over, searching for last minute flaws.

“Here. Have a squirt.” Nancy doused Betty in a spritz of Curve before spraying some in her own cleavage for good measure. “Chuck loves this stuff on me.” Nancy could rub herself down with raw liver and onions, Betty thought, and it wouldn’t matter. He was crazy about her. Betty decided she needed all the help she could get.

“One more.” Nancy grinned and squirted her again.

“There. We’re good. Let’s roll, girl.” They grabbed their handbags and paraded down the stairs. Nancy’s parents looked up at the found of clopping footsteps, and they broke into oooh’s and aaaahhh’s.

“Giiiiiirrrrl, someone’s going out on the town,” Mrs. Woods clucked. She swatted her daughter’s hip and gestured for her to turn around. “You look so nice! That’s a nice looking dress, Betty! You actually made that?”

“Uh-huh.” She flushed when Mr. Woods got up and automatically went for his camera.

“C’mon, now, move in, all of you get in here. Aw, yeah, my babies all look good!” He snapped pictures while Nancy and her mom made silly faces and hammed it up. “Does your daddy know you’re going out the door in that get-up, young lady?”

“Pop!” Nancy whined. “C’mon, we’ve gotta go!”

“Betty doesn’t need to be running on c.p. time, baby, we’d better let ‘em go.”

“Why not? You women love being fashionably late,” he challenged, ducking when she threatened to swat him. Betty chuckled behind her hand as Nancy pulled Betty toward the front door. Almost like clockwork, they heard the sound of Chuck’s car pulling up in the driveway.

“Who’s picking you up?” Mr. Woods inquired.

“I’m going with Nancy and Chuck,” Betty explained.

“Tell that boy to turn off the engine and come in here,” Nancy’s father chided, folding his arms across his chest. 

“He is, Daddy!” Nancy looked impatient and put-upon, rolling her eyes and curling her lip.

“Don’t give me that look, that look has sass written all over it. If you sass your old man, you don’t go.” 

“Okay, okay!” she threw back over her shoulder as she answered the door. Chuck came up the porch steps and his coffee brown eyes widened in clear admiration as his girlfriend pulled him inside.

“Oh, my,” he whistled. Nancy’s father gave him the stink-eye and looked ready to smack him upside his head. Chuck straightened up and shook his hand firmly, pacifying him slightly.

“Midnight. No later. I’ve got your pop’s number on my speed dial.”

“Yessir.”

“Be good.” He kissed Nancy’s cheek and gave Betty a brief hug. Nancy’s mother tucked a twenty into Nancy’s purse before they scrambled down the front walk. Nancy’s parents made a shared face of disgust at the sound of Chuck’s speakers blaring as they drove down the street.

“How can they stand to be inside the car with that racket?”

“At least we won’t have to worry about them trying to sneak in after curfew. Lord knows we’ll hear ‘em comin’ the whole way down the block.”

 

*

“Why are we stopping here?”

“I promised Ron that I’d swing by.”

“Shoot. Should’ve had her swing by and pick us up, and saved me some gas,” Chuck complained as he parked the car, watching Betty scramble out of his car as quickly as decency would allow in her dress.

“I’ll just be a minute. Ron wanted me to take some pictures for her,” Betty called over her shoulder. “Come in for a minute.”

“Nah.”

“C’mon, boy, don’t be ghetto and wait out here with the engine running.” Nancy strong-armed him out of the car and hustled after Betty, smiling politely at Smithers as he let them into the foyer.

“Hello, Nancy. Don’t you both look nice,” Hermione Lodge remarked as she entered the room from the formal dining room. “Your hair must have taken hours!”

“I did it myself,” she bragged.

“Oh, that takes talent. I wish Ronnie had talent like that, it would have saved her father a small fortune,” she chuckled conspiratorially. “Want a soda? Either of you?”

“No, thanks.”

“The only thing they want is for Veronica to shake a leg,” Hiram interjected as he laid down his newspaper and parked his pipe in the ash tray. “Every time I ask if she’s finished, I get ‘In a minute, Daddykins,’” he mimicked in a falsetto that made Chuck snort. “I quit asking about an hour ago.”

“I’ll go check on her,” Betty announced impatiently.

“Good luck!” Betty’s heels clicked on the staircase as she headed for Veronica’s suite. As she reached the second floor, she heard her best friend’s Katy Perry songs blasting from her iPod deck. She knocked lightly on the door, and the scent of her cologne greeted her when Veronica impatiently yanked it open.

“It’s about time! Hey, look at your hair!” She ushered Betty inside and looked her over, and envy flashed in her brown eyes as she took in her up-do and custom-made blue dress, which managed to look fashionable and flattering despite the “sensible” shoes Veronica finagled her into wearing with it.

“Nancy did it. She’s waiting downstairs with Chuck.”

“She could have come up.” But Betty knew that Chuck wouldn’t have wanted to be left alone with Veronica’s father for more than a few minutes, and Nancy didn’t try to follow her up out of empathy. Hiram had a tendency to drone on about his own high school football days whenever Coach Clayton’s son came over, bragging and dragging out the same stories of glory until his eyes glazed over. Veronica headed for her vanity and held up a necklace. “I need your help with this,” she accused. “Tell me which one goes better with this.”

“I thought you bought that red one to go with it,” Betty reminded her as she nodded to the gold chain with red Swarovski crystal charms hanging from it.

“I know, but now that I see this one, I think it might go better,” Veronica pointed out as she unfastened the tiny clasp of a Y-pendant choker with a teardrop of hematite in its center. Betty helped her hook it behind her neck as Veronica carefully held up her hair, which reeked of hairspray.

“No,” Betty pronounced before Veronica could even drop her hair again. “I like the red.”

“You think?”

“Definitely. Take that one off.” If Betty wavered, they’d never get out the door. Veronica sighed, shrugged and took the pendant off, chucking it onto a small silver tray sitting on her vanity.

“I trust your opinion.”

“Would this face lie?” Betty folded her arms under breasts and gave her a look that said “Woman, please.”

“Okay. I need a picture. Not over here.” Veronica handed her iPhone over to Betty and motioned for her to follow her to the uncluttered half of her large suite. The bed was rumpled and strewn with different, last-ditch clothing choices, some of which cost more than two weeks of Hal Cooper’s salary. Betty took Veronica’s picture in front of an antique changing screen while she vamped, blowing pouty imaginary kisses. “Send it to Archie. Wait. Let me do it.”

“Fine.” Betty handed it over, rolling her eyes. 

“I’m sending it to a few people.”

“We need to get going,” Betty reminded her. She sighed to herself as she saw Veronica shoving her feet into the shoes she lent her, but she squelched her feelings of resentment. It was one night, and if she had to admit it – she hated to admit it – her shoes looked better with Veronica’s shocking red strapless dress.

“Let’s get one together,” Veronica insisted, and Betty acquiesced. “I want Nancy to do my hair, next time.”

“Then ask her, next time,” Betty suggested helpfully. Veronica’s hair looked sexy, blown out and over-the-top, which was the look she was going for. They leaned in toward each other and made silly faces while Veronica aimed the camera back at them for an impromptu shot that she used for her Facebook update moments later as they descended the stairs.

Veronica shrugged into the white fake fur that Smithers held out for her and kissed her parents goodnight. As soon as she emerged from the house with her friend in tow, her father’s limousine rolled up in the circular driveway.

“Must be nice,” Chuck murmured under his breath, admiring the gleaming paint, leather interior and expensive rims.

“It’s got a wet bar,” Veronica added.

“No it doesn’t,” Hiram countered.

“Daddy!”

“No.” He ignored his daughter’s scarlet pout and kissed her again. “I want you in by one.”

“I have to be home by midnight,” Betty mentioned.

“Midnight, then,” he agreed smugly.

“DADDY! BETTY!” Veronica punched Betty’s arm, but her friend shrugged.

“It’s not like we were going anywhere else.”

“Then can I have my friends over after?” Veronica begged.

“These friends, yes.”

“How about Archie?” Hiram shuddered.

“How about not?”

“DADDY!”

“You could do better,” Hiram grumbled.

“PrettyprettyprettyPRETTYplease, Daddy…”

“I’m not hosting a free-for-all. You have a curfew. Your friends have curfews. A few people, until one. That’s it.”

“We’re paying for the car by the hour,” Hermione added solemnly. “No hanging out of the roof and no piling in all of your friends or making a mess.”

“I promise.” Veronica had a smug gleam in her eye.

*

“WHOOOOOOOO! GO, RIVERDALE!” Cars honked at the stretch Navigator and the three girls waving from the open top at the intersection. The driver nagged them to sit down and buckle back in before the light turned green. Sabrina, Maria and Midge hustled back into their seats, flushed and giggling. Betty almost wished she had taken Nancy up on her offer to continue to homecoming in Chuck’s backseat, but the chance to ride in a limo was hard to pass up. After several rapid-fire calls, Veronica rounded up half of the cheerleading squad for a ride around town, driving back down Main Street twice to show off.

The scent of perfume, hairspray and flavored lip gloss was cloying, but Betty was having a great time, just glad to be included, but her stomach swam with butterflies. She hoped her dress went over well. She hoped she got to dance with Archie, even though it was a risky endeavor. It all depended on whether or not he asked her. At the very least, she could talk to him, Betty reasoned. Talking never hurt anything, did it?

Veronica flip-flopped back and forth about letting Archie take her to the dance, but her father didn’t like the prospect of him taking her in his car and having to rely on the redheaded menace to bring her back by curfew. Hence the limousine, a small price to pay if he could keep Mr. Wandering Eyes out of the picture. Mr. Lodge was no stranger to his daughter and her best friend staying up at all night during sleepovers mooning over Fred Andrews’ son, and it made little sense to him why he was shared property between them, or so it seemed. He taught his daughter to have more pride than that, namely not to want a boy who couldn’t devote himself to her. Call Hiram biased, but Veronica was his special girl. There were other fish in the sea.

While Veronica’s father was home, trying to convince himself that he was grateful that his hair was already white so it wouldn’t turn gray with worry, his daughter was holding court. “I heard Cheryl and Jason are getting a stretch Hummer,” Maria informed them, leaning in an smirking as she shared the gossip.

“Those are so tacky,” Veronica said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She neglected to admit that her father almost rented her one. “But so are those two. I hated Pembroke when I went there.”

“It was just for orientation,” Betty reminded her.

“That was enough. They were a bunch of snobs.” It struck Betty as funny. When Veronica first announced that she was looking into attending the private high school, she was boastful and proud, and she informed Betty that a “better class of people” went there. But the experience left a bitter taste in her mouth. Pembroke’s students were just as rich as Veronica, very jaded, and frequently unfriendly. Veronica was no longer a big fish in a small pond, and she quickly changed her mind, begging her parents to enroll her at Riverdale High, after all.

Cheryl and Jason Blossom were the most rotten apples in the barrel, in her opinion. Cheryl guaranteed her name at the top of Veronica’s shit list when she set her sights on Archie. Truthfully? Betty was harmless… almost. As much as Veronica loved Betty and considered her a pair of ears and a shoulder to cry on when she needed it, she didn’t consider Betty enough of a threat where Arch was concerned. Cheryl, on the other hand, was a bombshell and a bad girl, and in Ron’s opinion, she tried much too hard.

A stretch Hummer… ugh. 

“Cheryl said she flew to New York last weekend for her dress.”

“Big deal.”

“Must be nice,” Maria remarked sourly. “Clearance rack, baby! Wet Seal!” She brandished the strap of her little purple dress and Betty gave her a high five.

“Where did you get yours, Sabrina?” 

“Oh, it was just something I whistled up out of thin air,” she said mysteriously, grinning. Betty was surprised that Sabrina didn’t go to the dance with her boyfriend, Harvey, but she had no objections to the platinum blonde hanging out with them. Sabrina was always a little unconventional, but she never brought drama to the table. A few of their friends planned to meet their dates at the dance, making Betty feel a little less left out.

Technically, she was going solo. That rankled.

*

 

Reggie casually scratched his hand where the splint was rubbing it wrong, making him itch like crazy. It was the only imperfection to how he looked that night, and it didn’t stop heads from turning when he went to the ticket table. His date squeezed his arm eagerly to get his attention.

“Want a soda?”

“Do you?” he inquired, smiling noncommittally at Dolores, an exchange student from Costa Rica. 

“Si, claro.”

“Te lo doy, chula.” She giggled and excused herself.

“I’ll be back. Hold our spot in line por un momento, papi.” She rushed toward the girl’s rest room, wrestling two of her friends nearby inside. Reggie had no doubt they were getting “the report” on his conduct and his chances for the night. He sighed and shook his head. Dolores was nice enough, gorgeous, and slightly vapid, which made her the perfect date for the dance. The popular exchange student accepted his invitation quickly, and it didn’t hurt that she poured on the sympathy for his injury.

Equally important, Dolores was a born mingler. She would spend just as much time at the dance chatting up her friends and flirting to give Reggie the chance to circulate. It was a convenient arrangement on his part.

He automatically scanned the room for a familiar blonde head and flash of blue. He watched several girls from the cheerleading squad file inside with their dates and without, seeing them gravitate toward the punch bowl as a buzzing hive of gossip and intrigue. Veronica gradually drifted inside, and Reggie snorted as Archie appeared out of thin air. She looped her arm through the redhead’s and was up in his face, making a fuss over straightening his shirt cuff. Reggie eyed her approvingly and decided to bide his time; he’d tease a dance or two out of Veronica easily enough. What amused him about Veronica was that she had to be the hottest girl in the room, not just to impress Archie, but to prove herself to herself. 

Reggie tried with her. He’d wined and dined her, drove her around town in his car, ran errands for her, you name it. She was attractive and he was drawn to her, but the thing that was lacking was passion. He was supposed to want the prettiest girl, it was the rule. He nursed a healthy enough obsession with her in junior high, but those feelings leveled off, losing some of their intensity. What drove him nuts was that Reggie was relegated to “backup” status. Reggie refused to be anyone’s “just in case” man, unless there was an off-chance of “rebound boyfriend” sex in it for him. He’d kissed Veronica before, and it was satisfying, a meeting of two people who were proficient about it and confident in their technique, their interactions so smooth they felt almost choreographed. Reggie felt victory surging in his chest the first time she acquiesced, offering him a sexy, smug smile before caressing his lips with hers. That was the first.

By about the fifth time, the experience lost some of its spark. He couldn’t pin it down, but on some level, it seemed like they were too much alike.

So it was back to the drawing board. Once in a while, he made a play for her, but it wasn’t any fun if she was available. Reggie found her most attractive when she was taken, and it drove Carrot-Top batshit. 

Dolores came back after he handed his tickets over at the desk, and he waited dutifully for her until she finished giggling with her friends. He handed her a cold diet Coke and she peered up at him through her lashes.

“Love your shirt.”

“You look hot,” he countered. She snuggled against his arm, pressing her breast against it in a blatant gesture.

“You’re sweet, papi.” She barely sipped the soda before abandoning it when the deejay played some Pitbull. She dragged him onto the floor and Reggie sighed.

He was in the center of the dance floor as the crowd began to swell around them, and she kept him distracted for about a half hour before he finally saw her.

The sight of her nearly gave him whiplash.

The dress itself was different, a retro-looking blue dress, strapless with a full skirt and black belt, and she paired it with little black pumps that made her legs look curvy and luscious. Her hair was done up, revealing the graceful column of her neck. Her makeup wasn’t remarkable, not the femme fatale smoky eye and gleaming, dark lip that Dolores had opted for or that Ronnie fell back on, sticking with what worked since she was fourteen. Betty did the “I’m barely wearing any makeup” technique with a light hand and only emphasized her eyes. Reggie detected a minute coat of mascara, just enough to darken her lashes, and her shadow was subtle, just enough to make him look twice. 

Her lips were glossed in tourmaline pink; he wondered if it was strawberry flavored.

Ethel, Midge and Nancy flanked her; there was safety in numbers. They drifted out onto the dance floor as a group, abandoning Chuck and Moose at the snack table while they talked about scores and casually mocked the girls’ love of music they considered lame. Reggie stole glances at her once in a while, but he always focused himself back on Dolores before she noticed anything was amiss. Veronica was dancing with Archie, and they seemed to gravitate toward Betty, too, as the anchor of their “safe zone.”

Just close enough to make Miss Goody Two Shoes jealous and insecure. There it was. The pout that replaced her casual smile, the faint slump in her posture and a sigh that Reggie felt rather than heard. It frustrated him, yet at the same time, it left the field wide open for him. Reggie begged off the floor after the sixth song, claiming he wanted to pop a couple of Advil for his hand. Dolores kissed his cheek in sympathy and migrated toward the entrance of the gym, waiting on some of her tardy friends.

All he had to do was wait. He’d seen this movie before. The scene unfolding before him was predictable and slightly tragic. 

Veronica asked Betty to hold her purse. 

It was the crowning insult, and it was a rule of the game that he was very familiar with. The Girlfriend Rules. The playbook was more complicated than Coach Kleats’ whiteboard, and Reggie was glad he was born male. There was an unspoken code in being a beta girl or being yin to a best friend’s yang, the subdued, dark sky that gave the star’s glow shine and meaning. The less attractive friend always held the purse. Sometimes it just happened by chance; whichever friend who was invited to dance first was left holding the bag – literally. It wasn’t a heavy bag by any stretch. Veronica didn’t have her whole life in there; at most, maybe a backup tube of lipstick, some mints, car keys, loose change and a cell phone. But The Purse was a lead weight, anchoring its guardian to the floor, leaving its keeper immobile and single, abandoned and wallflowered for a three-to-four-song minimum.

There were other burdens involved with being a beta girl. If the alpha girl had to go to the bathroom, the beta girl automatically had to follow. The beta girl had to act as an impromptu groomer, fixing stray hairs, quality-checking lipstick to ensure it hadn’t strayed to front teeth, hiding rebellious bra straps and blotting sweat away with damp paper towels without spoiling makeup or carefully teased bangs.

The beta girl was well-practiced in these rituals and obediently, wisely kept mum. It didn’t sway the dynamic in her favor to complain, or at worst, refuse to do this favor at the risk of being labeled a bitch. Dance night slander ruined many a girl by the following Monday morning and guaranteed uncomfortable stares and snickers that she knew she didn’t deserve, but it was a vicious cycle.

So Betty stood and watched, hanging on the fringes of her circle of girlfriends, who merely shrugged in sympathy and watched her dancing with less enthusiasm, encumbered with a two-pound clutch that had the nerve to feature handles instead of a long strap. She looked like an angel. Her best friend treated her like a mule.

It drove him nuts. Reggie decided to tip the scales and stir things up. Dolores was running her mouth and casually ignoring him for the moment. Reggie wandered through the crowd, elbowing his way past and between bodies that were just beginning to sweat.

Betty reacted with a start as he appeared by her elbow. “Gonna just stand here all night, Cooper?”

“Shit,” she muttered, irritation bringing out the divot between her brows. Reggie grinned. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You looked out of it.”

“I’m fine.”

Damn right you are. “You’re dressed up and spent five bucks to get in, just to stand here holding a purse.” She shoved him and he feigned injury. “My arm!” he threatened. “She’s abusing me again! I have witnesses!”

“Get over yourself,” she tsked, but she tried to fight a little smile. “I said I was sorry.”

“You play too rough,” he accused, and he took slightly guilty pleasure in her guilt, in the way her blue eyes darted away from his for a moment before they returned, beseeching him.

“Is there a reason why you came over here, aside from just making me feel like shit?”

“No. That was pretty much it. How’m I doing?”

“Splendidly,” she said with a fake little grin before turning away from him. Reggie scanned the room; Dolores was talking animatedly with Maria and Frankie, so he was fine for the moment. She stared out at the dance floor, eyes searching for Archie, that much he knew. “Does it still hurt?” she inquired.

“Eh. Nah.” Before she sigh in relief, he added “Not much.”

“That makes me feel much better.” He tried to keep a straight face, but his eyes gave him away.

“If you really felt bad, you could carry my books and hold my door.”

“And then what? Peel you a grape? Bend over and pucker up? Kiss your boo-boo?” His black brow rose at this, and his sly smile made her recant. “Oh, hell no.”

“Hey, you suggested it.”

“When pigs fly, Mantle.” But to his delight, her cheeks flushed deep scarlet, and she looked away from him again; her eye roll lost some of its impact. Reggie, one; Betty, zero.

She smelled good, and Reggie caught a faint whiff of something bubblegum-sweet. It had to be her lip gloss; it was strawberry, if memory served him correct. Not that he’d sampled hers, but still… Lip quenchers, ChapStick, and Lip Smackers tended to linger and leave behind sweet, sticky residue, and Reggie was turning into a connoisseur. 

He smelled good. Darn it. He was making it hard to ignore him and tell him to go to hell.

He looked good, impeccable in his charcoal dress shirt, black slacks and tie, and Reggie didn’t have a hair out of place. Reggie towered over Betty, even when she was in heels, and he was harder and leaner after half a season of basketball than he’d been for football in the fall. His shoulders were invitingly broad, filling out the silk shirt and tempting her to reach out and touch him, but she kept her hands to herself.

Until he looked down in annoyance at his splint, frowning as he scratched his wrist. “I hate this thing,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

“Itches.”

“Awwwwww,” she crooned with a little pout. “When do you get it taken off?”

“Another two weeks.”

“That sucks.”

“Eh.” She reached for his hand before he could scoff at her concern, and he tingled at her touch as she turned his wrist palm-up, examining the splint.

“You let people sign it?”

“Why not? What’s the fun of having a cast if no one does?”

“It’s not supposed to be fun. Sure wasn’t when I fractured my ankle.” It was the last time Betty had tried skiing, despite Ron’s claims that it was easy.

“Easy now, Hopalong.” Of course he’d coined that nickname for her, and it rankled that he remembered it.

“Jerk.” She traced some of the signatures with her finger. “Hearts? Who drew those?”

“I don’t remember.” There were several of them, along with smileys, peace signs, and to Betty’s amusement, phone numbers.

“You’re such a dog.”

“Woof.”

“Who’d you come with?” Her eyes darted out to the floor and she wondered for a second if he’d been abandoned.

“Dolores.” As if on cue, the sexy Latina came swishing over, eyeing Betty up and down.

“That’s some dress, chica,” she mentioned as she wrapped her hand around Reggie’s elbow, squeezing it. Her smile said “Back off.”

“Those are great shoes,” Betty returned, getting the message loud and clear.

“Come dance with me,” Dolores demanded, giving Reggie a little tug. He smiled indulgently and headed toward the dance floor, reluctant to leave his sparring match with Betty behind.

“Later,” he flipped over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Whatever.” She felt bereft, but the gods had mercy on her, offering her a consolation prize.”

“Here. Give me my bag. Come with me.” Veronica relieved her of the clutch. “What’re you doing all the way over here by yourself?”

Duh… “People watching.”

“These shoes are killing me.”

“Trade you?”

“Archie thinks they look hot,” Veronica said dismissively. Betty longed to smack her. Veronica took Betty’s hand and tugged her toward the exit, and she smothered a sigh. She caught Nancy’s eye where she sat snuggled against Chuck on the bleachers, and they exchanged looks. When her friends disappeared from the gym, she muttered “I’m glad that’s not me.”

“She’s your friend,” Chuck pointed out. 

“Ron’s not my BFF,” she countered.

“Thank the Lord,” Chuck told her, grimacing. “That girl’s all about the drama.”

 

*

Ethel danced for a few songs when she ran into her few single friends, including a few guys from Chess Club and the cross country team, but she was never their first choice, something that irked her. She always had to ask. She always had to work up the nerve to make the first move. How was that fair?

If she didn’t, then she ended up sidelined on the bleachers all night, wondering when she could go home and still get her money’s worth from her ticket. Slow songs were the bane of her existence. 

“Hey.” A pleasant tenor by her right shoulder tore her from her musings as she watched bodies pairing up on the floor and slowing down, moving to a song that she normally loved. She turned and faced Dilton, and she grinned at the efforts he’d taken with himself.

The customary sweater vest was still in place, but he’d completed the look with a long-sleeved dress shirt and tie. Ethel was surprised to notice his glasses were missing. He has pretty eyes. They were deep-set and a warm brown, with lashes that were almost too long for a boy; his dark brows were tidy like the rest of him, thick but smooth. He smelled like Old Spice, a reliable, masculine smell in her opinion, instead of the choking, cloying odor of Axe body spray. She detected a hint of Trident on his breath, and he was completely dry, not a drop of sweat to be found.

He’d spent the whole night on the sidelines. No one asked him to dance.

“Hey. You look nice.”

“So do you. That’s some dress.”

“This old thing?” She blushed and straightened her hair, tucking a lock of her short bob behind her ear. “Thanks. I borrowed it from my mom.” She didn’t mention that it was one of the only things she could find that wasn’t too short; no one designed decent juniors’ dresses for girls over five-eight. Her mother frowned at some of the hemlines when they tried on a selection of dresses from Nordstrom, and Ethel knew she was fighting a losing battle. She smoothed her palms over the dress briefly when they began to sweat.

“You been here long?”

“I came pretty early.” She didn’t add “by myself.”

“Yeah. I’ve been here a while.”

“Did you come with…anybody? Friends?”

“Kinda. I came in the same car with a couple of guys from Chess Club.”

Then why couldn’t you have just asked me? she wondered. “That’s cool.”

“Do you, uh… want a soda?” He nodded toward the snack table, and she smiled when he motioned for her to lead the way. 

“Good deejay.”

“He’s okay.” There was nothing wrong with the songs, but the lack of action on the dance floor she definitely had a problem with. “I like this song,” she added.

“It’s okay.” Ethel was slightly discouraged. Okay, so they would sit this one out. No surprise…

“C’MON, DILTON! MAKE A MOVE!” a loud voice bellowed from the dance floor. Jason Blossom was smirking over his dance partner’s shoulder, and Ethel wanted to smack him with her shoe.

“He’s an asshole,” Ethel hissed under her breath.

“His sister’s no better. They share maybe five brain cells between the two of them.”

“Stop them before they contaminate the gene pool,” Ethel chimed in, earning his grin.

“She told me the other day that I was lucky that I could still order off the kiddie menu.”

“That’s mean.”

“Sometimes, I still can.” He kept a straight face at first, but at her dumbfounded expression, he let on that he was teasing, elbowing her. Ethel elbowed him back.

“So you’re not that tall. Big deal.” She gulped down her Coke and sighed. “I’ll trade you.”

“You look fine.”

“It’s a pain. No one sells pants that are long enough, or shoes that are big enough unless I go to a more expensive store or the men’s section.”

“How tall are you, again?”

“Five-ten. I grew again.”

“Wow.” He rocked back on his heels. “I’m still waiting on my growth spurt. It’s not happening.” Dilton reached a little higher than Ethel’s chin, and that was only because he had grown a little since the summer. He was still lean and well-proportioned, but his size made people take him a lot less seriously, and it drove him nuts.

“It might. Who knows?” She elbowed him again. “But you look nice, anyway.”

“Ethel?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“Dance with me? I bought a ticket, and it’s homecoming, but so far, it’s been a bust. I’m bored out of my skull, and I wish I was at home watching my Firefly or Star Wars DVDs.” Her gray eyes lit up.

“Dilly, I love Firefly.”

“I’ll lend them to you.”

“If we just watch them at your place, I’ll bring the snacks.”

“Sounds good. But will you dance with me?”

“Finish that,” she told him, nodding to his soda. 

“I’m done with it.”

“Then come on!” Ethel did a mental fist pump. Yes! 

She soon felt grateful for the sensible little two-inch heels her mother lent her; Ethel and Dilton spent the rest of the night out on the floor, finally playing second-string. During the next slow song, she wondered if he could hear her heart pound. Dilton stopped worrying about whether his palms were sweaty, after a while. He grew so overheated that his tie ended up tucked in his pocket and he’d rolled up his sleeves and loosened his collar, but he didn’t mind.

*

By ten o’clock, Betty was bored and frustrated. She contemplated begging off Veronica’s after party and claiming a headache, and she was on her second soda, nibbling a few pretzel sticks. Thankfully, Veronica had her purse back, and she was glad to be free of the burden, but in the meantime, her BFF was holding court with Archie, sitting down in her stocking feet to get a reprieve from the shoes.

“Why’re you hiding over here, being a killjoy?” Jason accused. He gave her a low wolf whistle, which earned him a light shove. “You look almost as good as me.” She looked hot.

“How you do go on. So why don’t you go on over there.” But her smile was teasing. “Where’s your date?”

“Didn’t bring one. Just playing it by ear.” She’d noticed. Just like Reggie, Jason appreciated volume and danced his share with different partners. He’d watched her, biding his time and avoiding Veronica, since it worked against him if he talked shit about her best friend. As far as he could tell, Betty Cooper liked him, but she was on the fence as to whether to “like him, like him.”

He smelled expensive to her and looked smooth in black; in the back of her mind, she thought Reggie pulled it off more easily. “Was your Hummer crowded?” He snickered, liking her question only because he didn’t realize how loaded it was.

“Packed. You should’ve come with us.”

With Cheryl? No, thanks. “Nah. I had a ride.”

“You rode in with the riff-raff.”

“I am riff-raff.”

“Not even. At least you’ve got class.”

“So do my friends,” she argued.

“Not all of your friends.” His green eyes caught sight of Veronica and he sneered briefly. “I see one of them right now who spent a lot of money to look pretty cheap.”

“That’s not cool.”

“It’s okay if I think she’s full of herself. I’ll be honest. I don’t think she’s all that. Our parents are actually friends.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Sure you didn’t. Of course you didn’t. She won’t act like she’d have anything to do with me, and I don’t give a shit.” Betty didn’t agree. He seemed chafed.

“Did you like her before?”

“When?” he scoffed.

“I dunno. Just before.”

“She’s never given me much reason.”

“Not even a little?” He couldn’t figure out what she was fishing for.

“She wishes I’d give her the time of day.” A light went on in Betty’s head.

Jason did like Veronica, once.

“What’s that look?”

“Nothing,” Betty lied.

“You think I like her.”

“I never said that.”

“Get that thought out of your head,” he said in disgust.

“I’m not thinking anything of the sort.”

“Good. Don’t ever think it.” She could tell she’d hit a nerve, and her smile was small and satisfied.

“I like this song.”

“Eh. Nah.” She looked disappointed, and he sighed. “Eh. C’mon.” He took her hand, and her pulse jumped in excitement.

He was only indulging her because she looked hot. And truthfully? Because it was Betty. It wasn’t much progress, but he’d take it.

Betty never expected the tide to turn so sharply with something as meaningless as a dance. One little dance with a boy she was content to keep brushing off. Betty Cooper had lit a match, whether she knew it or not.

“What’s Betty doing out there with Jay?” Archie muttered to Veronica. She followed his hand where he was pointing and hissed in displeasure.

“What the hell? Why is she out there with that loser?”

“Got me,” Nancy replied. “Dang. So it’s like that.”

“No, it’s not like that. It better not be. Ew.” Veronica was aghast.

“What’s she doing with him?” Archie wondered. His voice sounded indignant.

“Having a pretty good time,” Chuck pointed out.

 

Reggie saw a flash of blue and the strobe lights flickered off of blonde hair. He saw Betty with Jason, and the auburn-haired point guard was holding her too close for his comfort. Scratch that. The sight of it made him very uncomfortable.

A rash of hot tingles ran over his nape and Reggie burned with jealousy. Reggie ignored Dolores for a moment, letting her chatter get drowned out in the music as he kept stealing looks at Betty.

Great. Blossom moved in when his back was turned. That wasn’t part of his plan. Betty was laughing at something he said, and her face was flushed; Reggie wondered if it was dirty.

“What’s up? Earth to papi?” Dolores teased.

“Huh?”

“Your mind was wandering,” Dolores accused. She didn’t tell him that his eyes had, too. She glanced over at Betty and made a face, noticing that she’d paired up with that stuck-up brother of Cheryl’s. She didn’t know the redhead all that well, but she was grateful; it bored her to hear her go on about her wealth and some of the places she’d been. Dolores wasn’t impressed when she told her that her family vacationed in Costa Rica the summer before. Cheryl admitted to not being able to speak a word of Spanish.

He returned his attention to her, and everything was fine for a while, but then he excused himself to go to the bathroom. Dolores retreated to the perimeter, annoyed and impatient.

“I’ll be back,” Archie murmured to Veronica, gently removing her hand from his shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he assured her as he abandoned his seat and crossed the gym.

“What the hell?” Veronica was agape. “What just happened here?”

“Where’s he going?” Chuck wondered.

“Uh-oh,” Nancy said before she could stop herself. Archie began to weave his way through the crowd, and she had a feeling that something was about to hit the fan.

Reggie decided to take the long way to the men’s room, and he plowed through the crowd, honing in on Betty’s blond hair. The dance was a slow one, and Betty’s cheek rested on Jason’s shoulder. Her posture was relaxed, but she looked like she had something on her mind. “Bets,” he said aloud, trying to get her attention.

“BETS!” Archie called out over the crowd as he grew closer. Jason’s hand was fondling her hip, dangerously close to her ass, and he saw red. Betty’s eyes snapped open from her haze, and she frowned when she saw Reggie coming toward them, looking annoyed with her.

“Now what?

“Betty, what’re you doing out here with him?” Archie accused, tapping her shoulder in irritation. Her face flushed with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

“Watch where you’re putting your hands,” Reggie interjected, narrowing his eyes at Jason.

“Why? Are you her watchdog?” he huffed. He shook his head at both of them. “Fucking townies. She’s dancing with me. Go find your own.” Betty’s nape tingled. He made it sound like he didn’t want to share the last swing on the playground, fer cryin’ out loud…

“Ronnie was looking for you,” Archie attempted, trying to appeal to their friendship, but he had other motives.

“Tell her you found me.”

“Better yet, tell Veronica she can wipe her own ass. She’s a big girl,” Jason suggested nastily. Reggie almost agreed with him, but he couldn’t let Blossom distract him from his purpose.

“Jay, stop it,” Betty snapped. “That’s not cool.”

“What? She can do without you for a minute, can’t she?”

“It might be important,” Archie lied. He tugged Betty away from Jason and took her aside. “Why are you with him?” he hissed, hovering closely enough to her for her to smell his breath. Normally, she’d be thrilled.

“He asked me to dance.” Unlike some people, she wanted to point out. “So?”

“He’s bad news.”

“Since when?”

“Bets, get a clue. He gets around, and I hear stuff all the time about this guy.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed. Betty was frustrated. Here waited all night, hoping Archie would pay her some attention, but this wasn’t what she expected. He had no right to criticize her choice of who to dance with, and he was being about as subtle as a brick to the face.

“Get out of here, Carrot-Top,” Reggie told him, clapping a hand over Archie’s shoulder. “I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got what?” Jason huffed, throwing up his hands. “Really? You too, Mantle? Get outta here with that shit. She didn’t come with you!”

“Shouldn’t this be up to me?” Betty reminded them in aggravation. “Can I get back to my dance?”

“You mean back to your date,” Jason offered, taking her hand and pulling her possessively behind him. His face was smug even while Betty glared at the two boys that she thought, on some level, were her friends, despite attempts on her part to the contrary.

“She told you no,” Reggie argued. He’d heard it through the grapevine that Betty refused his offer to go with him, glad to have the ammunition.

“You came with a date. Go back to her,” Jason said, dismissing him. His green eyes growled, Go cockblock somewhere else. Get your own.

Betty’s pulse sped up. Several people around them glanced at her, wondering what was up, and how she ended up surrounded by not just one, but three hot guys who seemed to be arguing over her.

“Reg?” He turned to meet Dolores’ confused and irritated look. He fumed, then sighed.

“Hey.”

“You said you had to go,” she reminded him, folding her arms under her breasts and giving him a pointed look.

“So go,” Archie added. Reggie wanted to punch him, and he saw smugness in Archie’s blue eyes.

“Go back to your date, Mantle,” Jason fired back. “She’s waiting.”

“What’s going on, papi?”

“Nothing. Just… nothing.” He took her hand and led her away. Archie watched them leave with satisfaction, but before he could continue to plead his case to Betty, he felt a light tap on his arm. Veronica confronted him, hand on her hip and fuming.

“What’s going on? Why did you take off? And what are you doing with him?” she demanded of Betty.

“He asked me to dance,” Betty explained as though Ron were five. “News flash: Someone wanted to dance with Betty, tonight.”

“Betty, you could do way better.” Ronnie wrinkled her nose in distaste. She didn’t even have the decency to look guilty at dragging her friend around like a pet all night.

“She could do better than you.”

“Fuck you, Jay!”

“Fuck YOU!”

“That’s enough!” Miss Grundy cruised over and stepped between them. “No fighting. This is a dance, you’re in a public place. Leave the drama at home, or you’ll all be asked to leave.” Her face promised detention on Monday morning and worse if they didn’t get their act together.

“We were minding our own business, ma’am,” Betty explained. “It’s no big deal.”

“Yes, it is,” Veronica argued, taking Betty’s arm and trying to pull her aside. “You know better, Betty. You don’t even like him.”

“No. You don’t like him.”

“Betty… this is bullshit.”

“No, it’s bullshit that all of you came barging over here and giving me a hard time about it. It’s one dance. That’s all. It’s not like he asked me to bone him.”

“Oh, God. Don’t say that. That’s not even funny. I just threw up in my mouth. Ew.” Jason looked amused until he heard the words “bone him,” and then he felt indignant.

“That’s what he wants,” Archie added.

“Don’t you get involved,” Veronica railed, turning on him. “This is between me and her.”

“It’s between us and the whole school, now.” Betty was embarrassed.

“That’s enough,” Miss Grundy agreed. “Settle this elsewhere, some other time. Enjoy yourselves. Dance. Mingle. No more arguing.” Jason took Betty’s hand and tugged her back toward the center of the dance floor, but when she leaned back into him, it felt uncomfortable, less natural.

Reggie attempted to pacify his date, but he went about it half-heartedly. “Why were you talking to her again?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It is if I’m your date.”

“She’s a friend. You talk to your friends.”

“I’m a girl. They’re girls. You’re not.”

“Why? You jealous?”

“It’s not jealous if a guy asks me to a dance, and I want him to pay attention to me.”

“I have been,” he shrugged.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she huffed. Her dark eyes were blazing, but her voice was hurt. She turned her back on him for a moment, thinking about what else she wanted to say. “Reggie… papi, I get the feeling you didn’t really come here with me.”

“What?” Reggie asked innocently. “Why?”

“You’ve been staring at her a lot. Do you like her?”

“Dolores…no. Bets? Pfft…” He waved the idea away dismissively. “Please. She can’t stand me. She’s not even my type.”

“Why not? What is your type?”

“Your type,” he said automatically, and it took all of his self-control not to stare back out at the dance floor.

“You’re sure?”

“Would I have asked you here?”

“Convince me.” She tugged on his shirt imperiously, and he met her halfway, giving her a kiss meant to tantalize and distract her. It worked.

“Still think I like her?”

“That’s up to you.”

 

Betty stayed out on the floor for another three songs, trying to enjoy herself, but she was too frustrated. She couldn’t even give her full effort in throwing Veronica a double-fisted fuck-off by staying with Jason. It wasn’t lost on him.

“You still mad?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? What’s the big deal? Ditch that loser.”

“She’s not a loser. She’s my best friend.”

“She’s not your mother,” he pointed out. “Does she get to call the shots? Does Andrews? Does Reggie?” he laughed. “God. That was classic.”

“I’m sorry they did that. I don’t know what their deal was, Jason.”

“What do you think?” he teased. 

“I don’t know,” she muttered.

“What don’t you know? They wanted to step with you.”

“Please! That’s ridiculous. Arch came with Ronnie.”

“And? That’s enough reason right there for him to come looking for something better, so he was looking for you.”

“Stop it, Jay,” she warned again.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Don’t get me started on Mantle.”

“I won’t. I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Why not?”

“We hate each other! We always have.”

“Didn’t look that way earlier.”

“I made him hurt his hand.”

“I heard. Should’ve aimed for his head.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“That’s because you’re too nice.” She hated hearing that, no matter how many times people told her.

“Whatever.”

*

“I’m so pissed right now.”

“Chill, Ronnie.”

“No! Don’t tell me to chill out! She’s doing this to get back at me!”

“For what?”

“Never mind,” Veronica snarled under her breath. She pouted at the dance floor as though she could will Betty away from Jason. Archie made an exasperated sound. “Hey,” she mentioned, thinking of something. “Why did you go out there?”

“Uh… I dunno. I just… thought you wanted to talk to Betty.”

“So why did you stay out there?”

“I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did.”

“Ron…” he tsked dismissively. “I wasn’t out there that long.”

“Why were you out there?” she pressed.

He wavered, wanting to give her an easy excuse, but his ears turned pink, a sure sign of his discomfiture. Archie told himself that he just had his friend Betty’s interests at heart, but it was hard when that was a lie.

He’d noticed Betty more than he wanted to. He had for a long time, and it blurred the line between what he wanted and what he already had. Making it even harder was Betty showing up to the dance looking sexy enough to make him stand up at attention in his Dockers.

He was dating Veronica Lodge, his crush since junior high, the star of his wet dreams. Archie was the envy of all his friends and enemies alike. He’d be a fool to even look anywhere else and spoil a good thing.

So why was Betty Cooper turning his head? What was it about her that made him have naughty thoughts about Riverdale High’s “Nice Girl?”

Maybe it was because she was cute, but plenty of girls were cute. She was nice. She was frequently the loudest voice in his cheering section and always did him favors. Maybe it was the way he always caught her staring after him with those big, liquid blue eyes, whenever Archie dared himself to glimpse back one last time. Maybe he was addicted to the shy smile and the way she ducked, then grinned at him again before she went back to what she was doing.

Maybe… in her own way, Betty was taboo. That one little variable that he hadn’t considered up until now, watching her dance with Jason, and watching how pissed off Ronnie got when her best friend deserted her, albeit briefly…

… was that Betty was his girlfriend’s best friend, and that should have made her off-limits. 

Should have.

Guilt poured into him as he imagined kissing Betty Cooper long and hard, running his hands over her body through the slick blue fabric and tasting her throat.

“I asked you a question.” Veronica’s impatient tone and narrowed brown eyes snapped him back to attention.

“Wanna go back out?” he offered. She didn’t look pacified.

“If you answer my question.”

“What? What question? It’s no big deal. I was just…”

“Just what?”

“…just gonna ask her if she had change for a five,” he hedged. To an extent, it worked; Veronica rolled her eyes and sighed instead of smacking him.

“What else is new. Always broke,” she mused. Archie didn’t know whether to be insulted that she agreed with his lie, or relieved that he’d distracted her from his slip-up and wandering eye. 

“Are we good? You over it?”

“I’m over it.” She waggled a finger at his nose. “Don’t do it again.”

“Pffft… me?” His shrug was exaggerated, and she sailed slightly ahead of him back onto the dance floor, straight to the center. He devoted his attention to her, but his ears were pink. Archie narrowly escaped disaster.

*

“You’re coming with us, right, Bets?”

“Nancy and Chuck are my ride,” Betty explained, but Jason gave her a long-suffering roll of his green eyes. His hand when he took hers was warm and insistent. 

“You don’t have to go home with them,” he pointed out. “I can give you a ride. And it’s too early. We’re gonna have an after party at Cedric’s.” Betty wrinkled her nose slightly.

“No thanks, Jay. Not tonight.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Jason gave her his best puppy dog look, and she giggled despite herself. “You look too hot to go home yet.”

“I have curfew.”

“No one has that strict a curfew,” he argued. It was already ten forty-five, and students were already squinting as the lights came back up in the gym and the music shut off suddenly while they were mid-dance. It was disorienting and disappointing; Betty secretly wished she’d had the chance to dance with Archie.

For a moment, she had a sudden flash of memory, feeling herself pulled back to the night of the eighth grade dance. She remembered the feel of Reggie’s shirt beneath her cheek and the scent of his deodorant and breath mints. He’d felt warm and solid, and for someone who made her life miserable, how did he know how to hold her? 

Dolores was lingering in the lobby, holding him captive – holding his good hand, she corrected herself – while she chatted with her friends. He smiled politely but looked bored and distracted. 

“So how about it?”

“Huh?”

“Come with us.”

“No,” she told him flatly, not realizing how rude she sounded. “Not this time, Jay.” He looked deflated.

“Then when?”

“I don’t know,” she hedged. “But thanks for the dance. I had a good time.”

“Then let me take you out.” Her eyes flitted away for a moment, but he leaned in toward her, squeezing her hand. “C’mon, Bets. Gimme a chance, here.” She watched disbelievingly as he lifted her hand to his lips, steaming her knuckles. His green eyes pinned hers as he mouthed one, and she shivered. Goosebumps ran up her arms and down her back.

“Okay,” she murmured almost inaudibly.

“You’ll come with us?” Jason perked up, but she shot him down again.

“No. But you can call me.” He whipped out his iPhone and started pulling up his contacts, all one-handed. He never let go of her.

Veronica searched the lobby for her bestie and froze when she saw her blonde head from over the crowd, leaning in toward one of her two worst enemies.

“Hell, no,” she muttered under her breath. That Pembroke scum was at it again! “BETTY!” she cried out, waving to get her attention. Betty spun toward the sound of her voice.

“Shit. I’d better go,” she told him.

“Your digits,” he reminded her anxiously.

“Right. Digits. Five-five-five, four-five-six-seven.”

“Solid. Let me change your mind. Come with me.” He snapped his phone shut and grinned at her.

“Sorry.” Her look appealed to him. Their easy rapport, however, was short-lived.

“Jay, what’re you doing over here? Let’s go to Ceddy’s,” Cheryl whined as she approached. Her eyes raked over Betty with amusement and disgust. “Nice shoes. Trés 1982. Were they having a red tag sale at Goodwill?”

“Get outta here, Cher,” Jason muttered, shooing her away.

“I was just leaving,” Betty told Jason, ignoring his twin. She squeezed his hand and reluctantly let go it. “Bye.”

“I haven’t given you my number yet.”

“Call me,” she suggested. Betty wasn’t going down that road. Heaven only knew what would happen if she called him at home and his sister answered. And it felt nice to be chased for a change. Call her old-fashioned.

Betty headed toward the exit, but Veronica stopped her, finally catching up to her. “What the hell? I was looking for you.”

“I was only gone for a minute.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“Nothing. No biggie.”

“Why was he talking to you?”

“He invited me to an after party at Cedric’s.” Veronica made a face.

“Ugh. You told him to go to hell, right?”

“Not in so many words, but yeah. I can’t stand Cedric.”

“Good riddance. You should have told him you were going to a much better one at my place, anyway.” Veronica looped her arm through Betty’s and started pulling her toward the exit. “I can’t wait! And I can’t wait to get out of these shoes…”

“I can’t even stay that long,” Betty complained. “It’s not that long until twelve.”

“Awwww. Tell your parents you want to stay over.”

“You’re having boys over.”

“Only until one.”

“My dad will have a stroke.”

“Daddy will probably throw everyone out before then, anyway.” Veronica pouted, looking long-suffering and deprived, even though she had the longest curfew of any of Betty’s other friends.

“Betty, c’mon, girl,” Nancy interjected. “Chuck’s waiting in the car.”

“I’m just saying goodbye to everyone,” she apologized. “I’ll be right there. Everyone loved my hair,” she added. Nancy beamed.

“Knew they would, girl. You rocked it.”

“I forget where he even parked.”

“Just come with me,” Veronica argued. “You’re coming to my house, anyway.”

“I want to go back to Nancy’s for my car and the rest of my stuff and change into something else first,” Betty reminded her.

“I’ve got clothes,” Veronica huffed.

“I don’t want to just leave my stuff at Nancy’s. And like I said, I have to go get my car.”

*HONK!*

“Shoot. There he is now. Make up your mind, woman. Train’s leavin’ the station,” Nancy prodded. 

“Ron, I’ll go with Nancy and Chuck. I’ll be at your place in a few minutes.”

“Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.” She gave her friend a hug and followed Nancy as she trotted toward the circular driveway in the courtyard. They could already hear Chuck’s music blaring from the windows, bass-heavy and rattling the chrome of the adjacent cars. He honked again, and Nancy yelled back.

“I’m coming, already, boy, quit making so much rack-OWWWW! SHIT!” Betty let out a small cry as she watched Nancy go down, ankle twisting as she fell off the curb in her high heels. Her earlier cheerful mood evaporated as she dashed for Nancy while Chuck turned off the ignition, freeing everyone’s ears.

“Dang, baby, you okay?”

“No. Ow. Ow. Oww-hoo-hooooo…” Nancy whimpered, sniffling.

“It’s okay, Nance, c’mon, we’ve got you,” Betty assured her, hating that her friend was on the verge of tears. Nancy Woods never cried and had nerves of steel, so if she was close to losing it, she had to be really hurt. Nancy yelled again as she tested her weight on her left foot, with their assistance on either side.

“OW!”

“Is she all right?” A male voice behind them grew nearer, along with a rush of footsteps in hard shoes. “What happened?”

“I missed the curb,” Nancy moaned. “I twisted my damn ankle.”

“Let her sit down.” Betty wasn’t expecting Reggie, and he nudged her out of the way, shouldering his way beneath the crook of Nancy’s arm instead.

“Sheesh,” Betty muttered, but she was grateful, since Reggie was stronger than she was. He lifted Nancy up while Chuck opened the car door and moved the seat back to give her more room to stretch out. He set her down gently and she eased back, but it was clear that she was still in pain.

“Nancy, what happened?” Veronica inquired, catching up to them and looking just as alarmed.

“Fell down, went splat,” she deadpanned. “With a growing audience,” she added bitterly.

“Sorry,” Ronnie offered. “Should we ask for some ice?”

“I’ll get it,” Betty decided, and she bolted toward the gym as quickly as her heels would carry her. The next few minutes were a blur. Miss Phlipps managed to get a Ziploc bag out of the cafeteria, and Betty promptly filled it with ice, wrapping it in paper towels. Nancy hissed as it was laid on her ankle.

“Thanks, girl.” Chuck rapidly dialed Nancy’s house.

“Nancy took a fall. Yeah, she’s right here. Want me to take her to prompt care?” He nodded in response to his questions on the other end of the line. “Here. Talk to ‘em. Let’s get going.”

“Bets, maybe you want to go with Ronnie,” Nancy suggested. “This is gonna take a while, and you need to get home.”

“I’ll drive her,” Reggie automatically volunteered.

“You will?” Betty stared, stunned. “But-“

“I can give her a ride,” Ronnie reminded her.

“Well… I guess I can go with Reg,” Betty considered, surprised that the words were coming out of her mouth. “I just need to get my car from Nancy’s. And my stuff.”

“Where do you live?” Reggie asked Nancy, leaning in toward her from the doorway of the car.

“Maple street. Number seventeen. Yellow house with brick steps.” Nancy looked relieved. “You’re fine with giving Betty a ride?”

“Yup. No trouble.” The ball of tension in Betty’s stomach started to uncoil slightly, but she was still on edge. The reason why hit her moments later as she heard Dolores’ voice sailing over the sounds of car engines and radios in the parking lot.

“Reggie! Let’s go!” She looked confused and slightly annoyed as she approached, until Reggie stepped forward and took her hand.

“Nancy got hurt. I was just making sure everything was fine.” Her pretty face was wreathed in concern and pity.

“Awww, poor mami,” she soothed, reaching in to lay a hand on Nancy’s shoulder.

“I’m fine, girl. I’m gonna go get my ankle looked at in a minute.” Nancy leaned around them to address Betty. “When you get to my place, give me a call, Betty.”

“I will.”

“This wasn’t how things were supposed to pan out,” Nancy muttered. Betty leaned down and hugged her fiercely.

“At least we looked good,” she assured her. She waved to Chuck as they pulled out of the lot. When Betty looked up, Veronica was already gone, which irked her. So there was really no way out.

Reggie was her ride home. And she was a third wheel.

Oh, joy.

*

“You fine back there, Bets?”

“Yup.” The back seat of his car was actually slightly cramped, and she was at the mercy of his gym bag, sneakers and notebooks that he had tossed back there, too. She could have sworn Dolores shot her a smug look from the edge of the rearview mirror, but she ignored it. She tried to ignore their conversation and focus on the fact that Jason might call her.

“Where does she live?” Dolores asked Reggie, acting like Betty wasn’t there.

“We’re heading to Nancy’s,” Reggie replied. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“If that,” Betty chimed in, and she tried to sound easygoing about it. She caught Reggie’s eye in his mirror but quickly looked away.

“Are we going to Ronnie’s?” Dolores inquired. That caught Betty’s attention.

“You two were planning to go to Ron’s?”

“She invited us,” Reggie shrugged.

“Shit,” Betty muttered. “Would have saved everybody some time if I’d just gone with her, then, except I needed to come back for my car.”

“Wow,” Reggie agreed. “Wasted trip.”

“No. It’s no big deal. I want to stop in and see Nancy’s folks, anyway.”

It didn’t surprise Reggie to hear that. That was Betty, always thinking of other people ahead of her own convenience. “They’ll be worried,” she added.

“What time did you tell your folks you’d be home?” Reggie prodded.

“They told me I had to be home by midnight.”

“Before the coach turns back to a pumpkin, huh?” Reggie smirked back at her from the mirror, and Betty narrowed her eyes, shooting him a disgusted look. Dolores laughed, making Betty want to kick her seat and pretend it was an accident.

At least Dolores had her Prince Charming, Betty grumbled inwardly, for that night, anyway. Betty gave her three, maybe four more dates with him before he got tired of her. Typical Reggie. Betty grew engrossed in the trees and street lights whizzing past them as they headed toward Nancy’s side of town. Reggie’s radio was on low volume, thankfully, giving her ears a break and something else to focus on than Dolores’ prattling from the front seat.

Betty’s attempts at ignoring them both gave Reggie the opportunity to steal looks at her in the back seat. She looked like she had something on her mind. She also still looked beautiful, skin slightly flushed from the chilly night air. Several loose blonde tendrils hung around her face, working their free from her careful up-do. She snuggled down into her jacket and popped a Tic-Tac absently, occasionally mouthing the words to a song that wasn’t his favorite, but that would no doubt give him an earworm from now on.

They met eyes in the mirror again.

“You’re about to miss it,” Betty informed him.

“Huh?”

“Turn left. We’re here.” Reggie slowed down belatedly and made the turn onto Maple. “Number seventeen,” Betty reminded him.

“Cool.”

“Thanks for the ride. G’night, Dolores.”

“Night,” Dolores told her cheerfully, glad to be rid of her and doing little to hide it.

“Hold it,” Reggie told Betty.

“Why?” Betty felt confused. Reggie put the car in park and left the engine running, then turned on his highbeams. He surprised her even further by getting out of the car, coming around to her side and opening the rear door. He reached down with his good hand and helped her climb out of the car; his grip was strong and warm. “Thanks.” She expected him to get back into the car.

Wrong again. “C’mon.” He motioned for her to walk ahead of him, and even laid his palm at the small her back protectively as they made their way to the porch. Betty felt that rush of goosebumps again, this time at Reggie’s thoughtfulness.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He opened the screen door for Betty to let her knock. She felt his highbeams on her back and his eyes on her face.

“You guys can go.”

“In a minute.” Betty heard footsteps inside and wasn’t surprised to see Mrs. Woods looking worried when she answered the door.

“Nancy told you what happened?” Betty pressed.

“Yes, she did. Is she all right?”

“Uh-huh. Chuck’s taking her to prompt care already.”

“She took a fall off the curb,” Reggie explained. “She was all right. Betty got her some ice.”

“Thank you for doing that,” Nancy’s mother agreed, even though she still looked stressed.

“I wanted to come in and get my things before I go,” Betty said.

“That’s fine.” She stared at Reggie quizzically.

“I’ll get out of your way. It was nice meeting you.” He reached out and shook her hand, and she beamed before letting Betty into the house. “Later, Bets.”

“Bye.” She watched him lope back to his car, and Betty noticed Dolores glaring at her from the passenger seat. Oops…

Betty and Mrs. Woods both waved to Reggie from the front door as he pulled out of the driveway, and she promptly headed upstairs toward Nancy’s room. “I won’t be long,” she promised.

“Take your time. Want a cup of cocoa?”

“Oh, no, thank you. You don’t have to go to the trouble.”

“I’m having one,” she cajoled.

“That’s okay. I’m good.”

“You made it back all right, Betty?” Mr. Woods stopped by the doorway to Nancy’s room while his wife bustled around downstairs. He looked concerned.

“Yup.”

“Who gave you your ride here?”

“Reggie Mantle. He’s a friend of ours.”

“A friend, huh? How good of a friend?” Betty felt embarrassed at the implication in his tone.

“We know him from the football team. And basketball,” she qualified. “And he lives down the street from me.”

“He wasn’t dance date material?”

“Nope.” She flushed to the roots of her hair and turned away to bundle her hair styling goods into her bag. She chucked makeup into it and traded her pumps for her comfortable sneakers, relieved at how good they felt.

“That’s a shame. So that left you free to play the field, huh?” He offered her that as a consolation, and she returned his smile, nodding.

“Yup.”

“Good. At your age, that’s how it’s supposed to be.” Then he shook his head. “Try telling that to my hardheaded daughter. She’s obsessed with that boy.”

“Awwww!”

“You know it, and I know it. Can’t slip anything by me.”

“Nope.”

Betty preceded him downstairs and fished in her purse for her car keys. “Y’all haven’t had anything to drink?” Mr. Woods pried.

“No, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Tell my mother I said hi when you get home,” Mrs. Woods told her.

“I’m not heading directly home. I was going to go to Ron’s.”

“It’s getting late,” Mr. Woods mentioned. “It’s already eleven-thirty.”

“It’s that late?” Betty’s jaw dropped. “Shoot! Shoot, shoot, shoot…”

“You’re better off heading home,” Mrs. Woods pointed out. “Or at least check in first.”

They were right. “Okay. Bye, it was nice seeing you. Thanks for letting me stop by.” She hugged Nancy’s mother and hurried out the door. The porch light didn’t go out until she started the ignition. Betty fumed as she waited at the intersection for the green light.

She could try to plead her case to her parents for a little extra time, but it was a lost cause. Her whole night was gone.


	9. Grease is the Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise and tempers flare as the sophomore class tries out for the spring musical.

Author’s Note: I want to thank anyone reading this here on AFF, and also out on DeviantArt, I’ve met some very nice people in my comments so far. I’ll try not to let this lag long, especially since I want to move the plot a little faster, and age the characters a little more. This fic already has me plotting out another Beggie piece in my head, I already have a title, song references, and an idea for the cast, but I don’t want to pull myself under too many unfinished stories.

“Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee…” Veronica and Betty snickered, cringing at Cheryl’s off-key alto.

“Ouch,” Jughead murmured, wincing. “Right now, I wish I was Piccolo.”

“Who?” Betty made a face.

“The green dude from Dragon Ball,” he explained as though she was dense. “He can grow his ears back after ripping them off.”

“Nice.”

“Her singing really is that bad,” Veronica chimed in. “I wouldn’t miss my ears right now.”

“All that money, and her daddy can’t buy her singing lessons,” Jughead continued as they watched several clusters of their classmates huddle in little groups with handfuls of sheet music. The auditorium’s first five rows were full of hopefuls, and the resulting cacophony of people rehearsing the title number or reading lines thundered through the space that began to feel too small. Cheryl stood off toward the corner of the stage, trying on every note like a pair of Vivienne Westwood shoes.

“Three more days of this,” Betty sighed. Tryouts would last all week for the spring play, leaving them victim to Cheryl’s voice until the cast list showed up on the school bulletin board. 

“I can sing better than that,” Veronica boasted. Betty remained mum. “I can, can’t I?” she prodded, giving Betty a reproachful look for not agreeing with her fast enough.

“Sure! You can sing,” she offered uncomfortably. Veronica wasn’t satisfied.

“I’ve got a great voice!” she pouted.

“Everybody does in the shower.” Jughead’s tone was deadpan and a hint of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. Veronica nimbly flipped him the bird. “What part are you trying out for, Bets?”

“All of them, I guess,” she said with a shrug. “If I don’t make it, I’ll work on the costumes.”

“Good plan.”

“Make mine sexy,” Veronica warned her. 

“If you get the part.”

“I said make it sexy,” Veronica sniffed, determined. Betty chuckled.

“Mine, too,” Brigitte piped up, raising her hand with a grin. 

“Right. Place your orders now,” Betty muttered. Brigitte grinned.

“This is my favorite play. I love Marty and Frenchie.”

“Why don’t you try out for the lead?” Betty asked.

“No! It’s… nah. It’s not me.”

“You’re good!” Betty reminded her.

“She’s great,” Jughead corrected her, folding his arms and arching his brow at the plump sophomore with chestnut brown hair. She shrugged back at him.

“That part’s not me.”

“You could try out for Jan,” Cheryl cut in, smirking at Brigitte. “That part would fit you just fine.” Brigitte flushed and looked annoyed. Jan was the cast’s nerdy “token fat girl” and talked about little else but food.

“Shut up, Cher,” Jughead snapped. “Who asked you?”

“I’m entitled to an opinion.”

“You’re entitled to stuff it.”

Betty and Veronica caught each other’s eye and pulled a face. It wasn’t typical of him to stick up for anyone when it was less effort for him to stay out of it, but Jughead always favored the underdog. 

“Up yours.”

“Show me how. You’d know.”

“Asshole.” Cheryl tsked and flounced off.

“There she goes,” Betty mused.

“She’s leaving the playground, ladies and gentlemen, and she’s taking her toys with her,” Ethel quipped. “Ugh…”

“What part are you going out for?”

“Frenchie. I love Frenchie.”

“You could do that part pretty well,” Betty agreed.

“She’s funny. And I’d get to wear a pink wig.”

“Work it, girl.” Betty was already designing the costume in her head, visualizing a poodle skirt and twin set and little barrettes in Ethel’s hair, bobby sox and saddle shoes. She giggled at the image.

“What’s Moose doing here?”

“Midge dragged him here to watch her try out.”

“Poor guy.”

“He doesn’t mind.”

“Okay. Better question: Is that Reggie?” Betty turned in the direction that Veronica was pointing and made a low sound of surprise.

“Wow.”

“I never thought he’d end up here.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Betty murmured.

“It’s no stretch,” Jughead shrugged. “His mom used to make him take tap dancing lessons.”

“Shut. Up.” Betty’s mouth dropped open.

“No joke. He did. She made a bargain with him that he could take guitar lessons if she could sign him up for dance, too. Said she wanted him to be ‘well-rounded.’”

“Reg plays guitar?” Betty was jealous. She always wanted to play a musical instrument, but the closest she ever came was when a friend of her mother’s showed her how to play a little tambourine when she visited one summer.

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

“He’s a show-off. I’m not surprised that he showed up,” Jug continued.

“He’d make a good Danny,” Veronica added.

“God, I hope not,” Betty said, cringing.

“Why not?”

“The part should go to someone who would actually appreciate it.”

“He probably would,” Veronica argued. “Yeesh. Someone’s touchy.”

“I’m not touchy. He’s just a jerk,” Betty sniffed.

“Awwwww,” Ethel teased. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Shut up!”

“Betty likes Reggie,” Veronica grinned, poking her.

“Shut up! ShutupshutupSHUTUP!” Betty brandished her fist, sending her girlfriends ducking and grinning. “Don’t even.” Betty watched Reggie resentfully, then ducked her eyes as he turned in their direction. “Don’t make him look over here.”

“Hey, Reg! Ron called, waving him over.

“I hate you.”

“Ask him about the tap dancing lessons,” Veronica prodded evilly. A slow smirk curled Betty’s lips.

“You ask him.”

“Ask me about what?” He showed up right by her elbow, naturally, and she wanted to kick Veronica.

“Nothing,” Betty piped up, schooling her face into an innocent mask.

“Sounded like someone was talking shit.”

“You’ve got me mixed up with someone who’d waste the time and effort.” Her smile was saccharine.

“Sounds like I had you mixed up with Jason, then, if you wanna talk about wasted time and effort,” Reggie scoffed without missing a beat. “Ooooh. Did that sting?” Her look was venomous.

“Fuck you.”

“Ouch. Potty mouth.” He pretended to look wounded, but his eyes danced at her expense. “Aren’t you tired of dangling him yet?”

“Please say yes,” Veronica cut in.

“I know, right?” Reggie went on.

“It’s none of your business,” Betty told him. “And be nice,” she admonished Veronica. Her best friend pouted and stomped her foot.

“Don’t wanna. He’s pond scum.”

“I’m with Ron on that one,” Jughead agreed.

“Make that three,” Ethel chimed in.

“What? He’s all right.”

“No. The boy’s all wrong,” Ethel told her. “Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

“Do you even return his calls?” Reg challenged.

“Look who’s talking. Has Dolores hunted you down yet?”

“Nice.” Jughead held up his hand, and Ethel gave him a fist-bump.

“’Hunt down’ is right.” Veronica tsked at him while Reggie shrugged.

“What?”

“She’s a psycho,” Betty told him. “It’s your fault.”

“How’s it my fault?”

“You led her on,” Betty scolded him.

“No, I didn’t. I liked her when I liked her. It wasn’t working.”

“Nice. That’s really nice.” Betty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “How can you treat someone like that?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I don’t treat people that way!”

“Have you returned Jason’s calls? Be honest.”

“Sure I have.”

“And you’re going out with him ‘When?’” Reg held up his hand to his ear. “What was that? When? Oh, right… never.”

“Friday,” Betty announced. Reggie’s smug look faltered.

“Friday, what?”

“Friday. I’m going out with him on Friday,” she admitted.

“WHY?” Veronica gave her arm a little slap. “When the hell were you gonna tell me?”

“After my date,” Betty answered. “I knew you’d go batshit.” Ethel groaned and Jug shook his head. Brigitte shuddered.

“You were right. What’s wrong with you, Betty? You don’t really like him?”

“He’s okay. It’s just a movie.”

“That’s an hour and a half of your life that you won’t get back.”

“Shut up, Ron.”

“No. I forbid it. You’re not going on that date.”

“I already told him yes.”

“No’s just as easy. It’s even shorter. NO. See? Easy. Now you try.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, Bets.” Reggie lost his smile and his dark eyes probed hers. “He’s not as cool as you think he is.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she huffed. “Why don’t you poke your nose out of my business and go grab your tap shoes, Mantle.” She flounced off, leaving him frowning in her wake.

“I knew she was talking shit over here,” he growled. “Sheesh…”

*

Betty fumed all the way to the water fountain in the hallway. What was up with her friends? And why did Reggie think he had any input at all? She mulled it as the cool water trickled over her lips.

“Pssst…” someone hissed behind her. She bent up quickly, but not before she accidentally sprayed herself in the nose. 

“Ack!”

“Shit!” Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” she argued as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. He reached into his backpack and found a slightly mangled packet of tissues, handing it over. She took one gratefully and cleaned up. “What’re you doing here? I thought you had baseball practice.”

“Nah. I’ve gotta leave early for a dental appointment. I just told Coach Kleats.”

“Got any cavities?”

“Blossoms don’t get cavities,” he bragged.

“Oh, my goodness, what was I thinking?” she deadpanned, slapping her own hand.

“I might forgive you by Friday.” He closed the gap between them slightly as she leaned back against the wall beside the fountain.

“You’re too merciful.”

“I know.” He toyed with a lock of hair from her ponytail. “You look nice.”

“It’s the end of the day, I look terrible,” she argued, but she beamed at the praise.

“Not so terrible,” he mused. He caught her hand, toying with her fingers and lacing them through his. “What’re you doing right now?”

“Tryouts.”

“What? For Grease?”

“Yup.”

“You sing?”

“I was gonna try out. I dunno.”

“No. You should. Just don’t get the lead, or my sister will throw a fit.”

“Have you heard your sister sing?”

“No.”

“Come with me for a moment.” She pulled him after her and they both leaned in through the doorway. As if on cue, they heard Cheryl belting out the opening bars of “Summer Lovin’,” and Jason cringed.

“Shit. That’s worse than when she sings in the shower.”

“You said it. I didn’t.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You don’t sing?”

“Nope. Not even at gunpoint.”

“Smart man.”

“I resent that.”

“Awwww.” She feigned sympathy at his hurt look, but he ruined it by smirking at her.

“Which movie do you wanna see?”

“I’m fine with whatever.” They went back to the fountain, but Jay leaned against the wall this time, and he widened his stance, encouraging Betty to stand between his feet. Her cheeks flushed and she had a hard time meeting his green eyes. He tipped her chin up, forcing the contact, and she chuckled nervously. “Why so shy?”

“M’not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m not that shy.”

“Prove it.”

“What…” The question died on her lips when he cupped her nape and leaned down for a kiss, sampling her. Her little sound of surprise changed into a sigh of pleasure, and her fingers crept up to his collar, fisting themselves in it. Betty heard his backpack hit the floor with a low thunk, and his arm snapped around her waist, pulling her in to him for more. Her body hummed with excitement in response. His cologne teased her senses, and his chest felt hard beneath her touch. She registered his fingers combing through her hair, tangling in it, and heartbeat sped up when he murmured her name over her lips.

“C’mere…”

“Jay…”

“You’re not going back yet.”

“Okay. Just a minute,” she chided him between kisses. 

“Uh-uh.”

“Dentist,” she mumbled, but he caught her ripe, plump lower lip between his teeth and groaned over how good she tasted.

“Betty!” The low, feminine hiss snapped her back to attention, and they sprang apart. Betty whirled on the source, cheeks scarlet and ponytail slightly mussed. Ethel looked sheepish.

“They’re lining everyone up and taking names,” she told her, nonplussed. “You don’t want them to miss you.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” 

“Bye, Jay.”

“Call you.”

“Okay,” she tossed over her shoulder. She ducked away from Ethel’s reproachful look as she edged past her through the doorway. Veronica waved her over to stand with her, and she looked puzzled.

“What took you so long?”

“Nothing.”

“Where were you?”

“I was thirsty.” Veronica wondered why she looked so guilty, but Miss Grundy’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Listen up! Everyone gets a number once you sign up on this list. Three days of tryouts. Today we sing. Tomorrow we run lines. Thursday, we try out a little choreography. Put your name under the character that you’re trying out for, and we will consider each of you. Good luck! Even if you don’t get cast, we need extras in the chorus, set designers, costume designers, lighting techs, orchestra members and people to sell tickets the night of the show and to bake refreshments. This is a big production, and we’ll find places for as many of you as we can to make this show a success.”

“Glad I don’t have to try out,” Jug mentioned.

“Sure. You know how to play an instrument.” Jughead signed up for the orchestra right away, making things easy for himself. He was an excellent drummer and he would be down in the pit in front of the stage, out of sight, which was fine with him.

“You could just do the costumes.”

“I know. I just want to try out. It could be fun to actually be in it.”

“Know how to sing?”

“No.”

“Right. Warm up that sewing machine, Bets.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

*

Vocal tryouts were an exercise in futility for Miss Grundy and Mr. Flutesnoot. Half of the students were tone-deaf, and what few who were relatively gifted didn’t sing loudly enough to reach past the third row.

“Maybe the cold reads will go better tomorrow,” he sighed as he pored over his clipboard.

“Please, Lord, all I ask is five decent ones to work with, not much, just someone who won’t turn my ears to putty.”

“Brigitte’s here,” he pointed out, nodding to the edge of the stage.

“I hope she tries out for a lead.”

“Use your authority to as director to move her in there, anyway, even if she just wants to be in the chorus.”

“I know. I wish she wasn’t so self-conscious.”

“You remember what it was like at her age.” The two veteran teachers had attended Riverdale High together, and they both remembered what it was like being lanky, awkward and unpopular.

“She’s talented. This is her turn to shine.”

“If we survive this,” he muttered as Cheryl Blossom took the stage, smoothing her too-short skirt.

“Motrin?”

“Here.” He unscrewed the bottle as Miss Grundy motioned for Miss Haggly to play the piano. They forced patient smiles onto their faces as she opened her mouth.

“Good! Keep going!” Miss Grundy encouraged, even as her teeth rattled. “Shoot me,” she whispered.

“Just remember,” he reminded her through his teeth, “you’re tenured.”

*

“How are the auditions going?”

“It’s a mess. I’m so nervous,” Betty admitted as she fixed herself up in the mirror. She had Nancy on her tiny phone’s speaker, and her cheeks were still flushed. There were five people ahead of her to sing Sandy’s part, and her stomach was full of butterflies, even though she didn’t have a vested interest in the part. But there was still a problem.

Reggie. She hated it when she fell under his scrutiny. He made her feel small, unskilled, and awkward so frequently, like an easy target for his barbed tongue. Betty was good at a lot of things, but she wasn’t a show-off, not really. There were moments, though, when she felt the same way she did at the lake, when he lured her out onto the pier and made her throw herself in the water. He loved to make her react, and in the process, she made a fool out of herself.

What if she was off-key? What if her voice broke or she was too loud? Too shrill? What if she fumbled the words? She’d never hear the end of it if she stunk. What was worse was that Archie showed up unexpectedly. He canoodled with Veronica, showing up to give her moral support, and Betty burned with jealousy. She knew he’d already spoken to Miss Grundy about being in the play’s orchestra on guitar, something he didn’t have to audition for, since it would satisfy his music elective requirements for the year, and he was already rehearsing the song in his stage band class. Betty’s spirits sank. She didn’t have Nancy there pulling for her, since she was still in her support brace after fracturing her ankle, and she had to keep it propped up when she wasn’t at school. She needed her sassy friend to give her a kick in the rear to keep her focused.

“Girl, you can do this. Go get that part.”

“I’m not even dying for the part. I just want to be in the play, one way or the other. I want to have fun with it. Worst case scenario, I can make the costumes or run the bake sale.”

“That’s ridiculous. You can dance. You’re a cheerleader. You’re not exactly shy, woman. Show ‘em what you’ve got.”

“Wish you were here.”

“You’ll get by. Call me when you’ve got the part.”

“Brat.”

“You love me,” Nancy reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Bye, girl.”

“See ya.” Betty sighed at her reflection one more time and wished away the knots in her stomach. She returned to the noise of the auditorium, and she noticed that several people left after they finished their solos and leaving behind their information. Reggie, Ronnie and Archie were still chatting by the edge of the stage until Miss Grundy shushed them to let Brigitte sing. Several bars into the song, everyone sat silent and slack-jawed as she knocked it out of the park, inflections and phrasing perfect, her clear soprano soaring all the way to the back of the theater. 

“No way,” Cheryl muttered under her breath. 

“Wow,” Reggie murmured. “Who knew?”

“She rocks,” Jughead added.

“Well, I’m done,” Ethel decided, but she wasn’t sorry. She enjoyed hanging out with Brigitte, and she had to be happy for her, since this was an excellent opportunity for her to get out there and be noticed. Brigitte sang to the audience, not just the judges, and her stage presence was polished and practiced. When she sang, she wasn’t just a dumpy sixteen-year-old in Lane Bryant jeans. She felt special, beautiful and sophisticated, and this was her world. The crowd broke out in a smattering of applause, giving her whistles and cat calls.

“That was fantastic, Brigitte. Thank you.” She nodded and rushed down from the stage, dashing past her friends.

“What’s wrong?” Betty called after her softly.

“I’m gonna throw up,” she admitted.

“Eek,” Ethel cringed.

“I can’t even follow that,” Betty sighed.

“Why? You next?” Archie inquired with interest.

“Yup.”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her, bumping her playfully. She bumped him back and caught a brief frown from Ron. Betty moved away from him quickly, but she felt his eyes on her back as she climbed up to the stage and took a sheet of music from the folding chair. Betty was grateful that she’d had a sip of water, because her mouth suddenly dried up. Roughly four dozen pairs of eyes pinned her, and she felt completely naked.

“Are you ready?” 

“Sure.”

“Go ahead.” Betty scanned the sheet music and mentally coached herself on the notes, how each would sound coming from her throat. She hadn’t sung onstage since sixth grade during the Riverdale Elementary holiday pageant, but singing in the back row of a choir of fifty kids and doing a mean rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” didn’t really count, did it?

She knew she’d regret this.

Miss Haggly played the piano, smiling encouragement and mouthing the words to herself as Betty began. “Summer lovin’, happened so fast…” To her own ears, her voice sounded girlish, almost childish, and slightly unsteady. She caught Veronica’s eye and her bestie smiled, but to her alarm, Reggie was smirking, and Archie watched her with a hint of what looked like concern. She tried to concentrate on the music, attempting to stay in the right register, not taxing her voice past its natural range.

“Met a boy, cute as can be…” In the back of her mind, Betty told herself that she could do this. The song was what, a mere two minutes of her life? To her relief, no one was cringing like they did for Cheryl’s performance, but no one looked as impressed as they had with Brigitte, either. But overall, Miss Grundy was nodding and she noticed Mr. Flutesnoot tapping his pencil to the rhythm of the melody. That was encouraging, wasn’t it?

Reggie caught her eye, and he yawned with emphasis. The gesture pissed her off, and she felt her cheeks flush. He was bored with her performance? She knew he’d make her mess up, the jerk!

What would Nancy do? she wondered. 

Go on, girl. Get that part. Nancy’s previous lectures stuck with her, pep talks that occasionally made her feel like she was five years old, but she usually knew what she was talking about. Reggie’s eyes still burned into hers, and he silently mouthed the words, You suck.

Her voice rose in volume, and her phrasing became sharper as the song continued, and Betty’s hips swayed to the music without realizing it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miss Haggly grinning over the piano keys. She couldn’t help reacting to him, wanting in some way to prove something to him, even though he was the last person in the world whose opinion she could give a damn about.

Yet she did. She always had. It made no sense. Reggie always got to her. She wondered when it would stop. What could she even do to get him out of her hair and off her mind?

Reggie’s smug face hid his surprise. She wasn’t bad to begin with, definitely not Britney Spears, but he’d heard worse. But she got better when he pissed her off. That amused him, certainly, but that also flattered him that she focused on him, even when she was trying to concentrate on the audition. When she started the song, for those first few bars, she sounded unsure, and there was a vulnerability in her face and slightly closed posture, but she was gaining confidence with each line, as though the song was growing on her, like she believed in it.

He pictured her in the back of his mind in the fifties clothes and her hair in her customary ponytail; the image pleased him. But he squelched it, schooling himself to look bored. She didn’t like that, if the way she narrowed her eyes his way was any clue. She finished the song on a whole note that she held without faltering, nailing the crescendo. 

Betty set down the sheet music, noticing her fingers left sweaty impression on the paper. She rushed down from the stage as soon as Miss Grundy thanked her, and she made a beeline for her backpack. Veronica caught up to her and gave her arm a little squeeze.

“What was that? You totally started out sounding all nervous, but then you tore it up!”

“I don’t know. But now I know why Brigitte felt sick. I thought I was gonna die up there.” She held out her hands. “My palms are all sweaty.”

A few random, slow, hollow-sounding claps interrupted them, and Betty turned to see Reggie giving her deadpan applause. “I was moved,” he told her slyly.

“Move that way,” she suggested, annoyed.

“Sorry. Can’t. I’m up next.” He headed for the stage and threw back, “Take a load off and take notes, Cooper.”

“What an obnoxious bastard,” Betty hissed under her breath.

“Looked like he was enjoying himself when you were up there,” Veronica pointed out.

“He was acting like I was putting him to sleep.”

“Not from where I was standing.”

“Ignore him, Bets,” Archie interjected. “You were great up there.”

“I was nervous,” she mentioned, keeping her voice low when Miss Grundy gave them a warning look to quiet down. Reggie took the sheet music and set it on the easel, and he gestured to Miss Haggly to play, not waiting for Miss Grundy to give the direction. His stance broadened and Reggie threw out his chest, and the sound that came out of his mouth stopped whatever thoughts that ran through Betty’s mind.

“We'll get some overhead lifters, and four barrel quads, oh yeah  
Keep talkin', whoa keep talkin'!  
Fuel injection cut off, and chrome plated rods, oh yeah,  
I'll get the money, I'll see you get the money…”

“Whoa,” Ethel whispered.

“Wow,” Jug agreed.

“He can sing?” Veronica wondered. “Where’s he been keeping that?” Betty had no answer for her. Suddenly she felt inferior in comparison, watching him throwing confidence and swagger at them all as he nailed it, channeling Danny and giving Travolta a run for his money. His voice was a baritone, and he made it sound like a rough whine when the song needed it.

“Football got in the way of him going out for repertory singers this year,” Archie said with a shrug. “He couldn’t make the rehearsals. Mr. Flutesnoot was hoping he’d change his mind.”

“That’s not fair. Tell me he’s not totally killing that song up there,” Brigitte tsked when she returned to their little group.

“I’d be lying,” Betty admitted. “He’s good.”

“He’s great,” Ethel carped sourly.

“Guess we know who’s got the lead.”

“He still has to be able to act,” Archie pointed out.

“Are you kidding? The part was practically made for him,” Veronica argued. “Can you see him up there in leather, dancing on top of a car?”

“Yup,” Betty and Brigitte said in unison.

Betty couldn’t stop watching him, which frustrated and fascinated her. His voice was versatile, and he really got into the role.

“You are supreme,  
The chicks’ll cream  
For GREASED LIGHTNING!”

“I may just faint,” Ethel murmured. She wanted to keep hating him, but he was just too good. His snug tee shirt strained across his taut chest as he kept belting out the song. He sang through his diaphragm like he was supposed to, and he had enviably tight abs. Betty felt even more annoyed with herself that she couldn’t stop staring at those, either. He caught her eye, and his eyes gleamed with smugness, once again seeming to be at her expense. 

Reggie was showing off for her, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It felt good to strut his stuff, and he could tell she was still miffed at him for ruffling her feathers, but at the same time, she liked what she saw. Reggie mimed an imaginary microphone and dropped to one knee with a flourish. Veronica, Ethel, Midge and Brigitte pretended to swoon over his performance, but he could tell they were impressed.

So was the little ticked off blonde, even if she wouldn’t admit it. He saw her fighting a smile, but she gave up the battle when he reached the last verse:

“With new pistons, plugs, and shocks,   
I can get off my rocks  
You know that I ain't braggin', she's a real pussy wagon –   
greased lightnin'!”

“Wow,” Ethel said again. “I might have to revise my opinion of that guy. Somebody sign him up for Glee.”

“Maybe he can play a boyfriend for Kurt,” Brigitte suggested, making all of them crack up.

“That was so good,” Veronica muttered. “Huh, Betty? Who knew?”

“Who knew,” she repeated blandly. The crowd applauded him loudly and Grundy and Flutesnoot rolled their eyes as they made notes on their clipboards. She watched him leave the stage with a swagger in his step, and his eyes lit up when he caught her watching him.

“Guess I didn’t shine as bright as you did,” he offered. His smile was lopsided. Was he expecting praise?

“Whatever, Reg,” she shrugged. She turned away from him and told Veronica, “I’m out. Call me later.”

“What the hell?” Reggie said under his breath as he watched her abandon him. “That’s the thanks I get?”

“You’re full of shit,” Archie commented, “and she knows it.”

“Who asked you?”

“You did.”

“Fuck off,” Reggie snarled, catching Carrot-Top’s bland look. And who was Arch to call him full of shit? Look who was talking! Reggie stalked after Betty as she exited the auditorium and caught up to her in the hall.

“All I get is ‘Whatever?’”

“I’m sorry, did you mistake me for a member of your fan club?”

“That’s not nice,” he accused, looking wounded.

“Whatever. You were good.”

“Just ‘good?’” he mocked. “You’re a tough critic.”

“I didn’t yawn through it, like some people I could name.” He followed her outside as she made her way to the courtyard.

“I was just messing with you. C’mon, Bets, you were decent up there.”

“You’re too kind,” she replied with a simpering look.

“Well… you were.” Reggie scratched behind his ear as they made their way to her tiny white coupe.

“Thanks, I guess.” She keyed her way in and stared at him. “What?”

“I can’t talk to you?”

“If you want,” she told him, shrugging again. “I’m taking off, unless you had anything you wanted to share.”

“What’s up with you and Jay?” She met his scowl with her own.

“Not that again…”

“Betty, he’s not cool.”

“Let me find that out for myself and make up my own mind. What’s it matter to you, Reg? You can’t figure out why he would like me?”

“No,” Reggie blurted out, and then he wanted to kick himself. That didn’t come out the way he meant for it to.

“Nice,” Betty grumbled as she threw her backpack into the rear.

“I can’t figure out what you like about him,” Reggie corrected.

“Why? He’s cute. Smart. Good at sports. What’s not to like?”

“He’s got cash. Don’t forget that,” Reggie added.

“I don’t need reminding about that. I don’t care about that.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“Reg, that’s bullshit. Don’t come after me and tell me I want him for his money!”

“Then you do want him?” Reggie made a sour face, and Betty almost wanted to laugh.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Bets… just… don’t get your hopes up about that guy.”

“It’s a date. It’s no big deal. He likes me.”

“So?”

“That’s a good reason to go on a date with somebody most of the time,” she said as though he were a small child.

“That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of guys like you, Bets, and you don’t give all of them the time of day.”

“I guess you know something I don’t, then. No one’s knocking down my door,” she mused as she leaned against the hood of her car and folded her arms. He felt a hint of guilt at her words, but Reggie pushed it down. 

Her face was impatient, which made her cute in his opinion.

“Then pay attention once in a while. But don’t waste your time on Blossom.” As she opened her mouth, he added “Or Archie.”

“What the hell? Why are you bringing Archie into this? Is this Stick My Nose into Betty’s Business Day? And why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You still like him.”

“Butt out,” she snapped, blue eyes burning into him.

“He’s playing games, too, Bets, even though you think he’s so sweet and innocent.”

“I never said I thought he was ‘innocent,’” she told him, making quotes with her fingers.

“You’ve got a thing for redheads.”

“Again, Reg, ‘Big deal.’” She sighed. “And you like brunettes, especially the ones who make you work for it, or the ones you can’t have.”

“Like who? Dolores didn’t make me work for it!”

“I meant Midge and Veronica.” He sputtered and scowled at her, waving his hand dismissively.

“Ridiculous. Uh-uh. You think I want either of those two?”

“You like them. I’ve seen you around them both.”

“Ron and I are friends,” he told her.

“You show off around her all the time, even though she likes Archie.”

“Then what’s your excuse?” he shot back, feeling his face flame with frustration. His tone was indignant. “You do the same thing.”

“Leave me alone, Reggie,” she ordered coldly. “Go. Get away from my car.” She climbed in and slammed her door, making him jump back slightly, but he reached for the edge of the window frame and leaned down.

“Betty, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yes you did.” Her eyes were blazing, and he could tell that he pricked a sore spot. “I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsals.” She turned the ignition, and only when her engine hummed to life did he back off. “Bye.”

“Yeah.” He waved as she left, and he felt like an ass.

*

The next day of tryouts followed a restless day of fidgeting in her seat and Betty’s margins growing crowded with doodles of possible costume ideas that involved poodle skirts and satin jackets. What Reggie had said rankled and she wanted to prove him wrong, somehow, or at least shut his mouth. As if he read her thoughts, Jason materialized at her side as she put away her geometry book.

“You look deep in thought,” he murmured in her ear. His breath tickled and she chuckled as she faced him.

“It’s nerves. More auditions today.”

“I bet you did fine,” he offered.

“You didn’t see me up there. I was scared out of my mind.”

“Cheryl wouldn’t tell me how you did when I asked. She was all like ‘Eh. Whatever.’”

“Nice.” Betty grinned.

“What movie do you want to see?”

“I’m not picky.”

“No chick flicks.”

“I’m fine with that.” She grinned up at him. “Not into mushy romance?”

“Not unless I’m involved in it.” He leaned forward and noogied her shoulder with his chin. The close contact and ticklish gesture gave her shivers, and she smelled his cologne. She batted him away, but he was grinning at her.

“I’m fine with an action movie, if you want.”

“How about a scary movie?”

“I like old ones. All the new ones have too much CGI. They look more fake now than the ones.”

“You mean the ones with cables and corn syrup?”

“Yup. I love the old-fashioned ones like Halloween or Carrie.”

“Wow. Those are pretty cheesy.”

“They’re fun to go back and watch now. They scared the heck out of me when I was a kid.”

“Who knew? I wouldn’t have figured you for liking those,” Jason told her.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“I know that.” He palmed the small of her back as she moved away from her locker and back into the tide of people headed to class. The gesture was possessive and relatively quick in regard to how long she’d been accepting his attentions. She noticed a few girls glancing at them and eyeing her with envy.

“What are you doing today?”

“Baseball practice.”

“Cool.”

“I’m pitching this season.”

“Even better. Reg pitched last year. We had a pretty good season.”

“Reggie? Pfft… he sucks. I can strike him out any day of the week.”

“Tell him that. He’s good.” Betty felt confused for a moment, and she wondered why she was defending Reggie Mantle.

“Are you in his fan club?” Jason challenged.

“God, no,” she protested. “I’m no sheep.”

“Good. Bets?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to sound like a dick, but what’s with you and Andrews?”

“What about Archie?” She felt a sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t she just had this conversation with Reggie? And wasn’t it none of his business, either?

“I dunno. I thought you liked him.”

“He’s a friend.”

“A good friend?”

“He doesn’t like me like that.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Betty had a bitter epiphany.

He didn’t, did he?

It stunned her. But it was true. As much as she tried to impress him, he hardly knew she was alive. Archie liked Veronica best. It didn’t matter how much Betty praised him or admired him, how many of his games she watched or how loudly she cheered his name, lent him a pencil or let him copy her French homework, lent him a dollar for a soda or offered him a ride when his car was in the shop, she was left on the shelf every time. She was “just a friend.”

Suddenly her date with Jason Blossom was even more appealing; she needed someone to take her mind off of Archie Andrews. Maybe her motives were less than noble, but she liked Jay.

“Bets?”

“Huh?”

“You left me for a minute there.” Jason rubbed his nape and stared at her.

“Sorry.”

“So you’re not into him?”

“I’m not his type,” she insisted with a shrug.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“There’s nothing between us,” she told him.

“You stare at him all the time.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Looks like it.”

“And I don’t stare at you?”

“I like it when you do,” he agreed, and his smile returned. 

“Call me,” she told him, and she gave him a hug that took him slightly off-guard. It was too short, and he felt bereft when she pulled away.

“I will when I get home.”

“I have tryouts today.”

“Break a leg.”

*

“When she heard it pop and saw the blood…” Ethel made a gagging face, and the crowd gathered in the auditorium laughed. “She threw up in the bathtub.” Her helpless expression was priceless.

“Nice job, Ethel,” Miss Grundy told her. “Okay. Let’s run another scene between Sandy and Danny. For Sandy, I want Betty Cooper, and Reggie Mantle, you read Danny.”

Betty’s stomach sank. Great. Just great. She reluctantly took the script book from her English teacher. “Page ten, Betty.”

“Thanks.” She didn’t want to meet Reggie’s eyes onstage, but he was polite enough to keep a few feet between them at first.

“Move in a little closer. Remember, you like each other in this part, for the moment,” Flutesnoot chuckled.

“Go ahead, Betty,” Miss Grundy told her.

Betty cleared her throat and mulled over the lines for a moment before throwing herself into the scene. “Danny?” Reggie changed before her eyes, getting into character quickly. He pretended to straighten his collar, and his expression became smug and detached.

“That's my name, don't wear it out.” There it was, a slightly accented inflection in his voice; he sounded like a Brooklyn boy instead of a midwesterner. 

“What's the matter with you?” Betty demanded as “Sandy.” She tried to channel how she’d feel if a boy she liked was yanking her chain. She had a lot of personal experience to draw from, she mused…

“What's the matter with me, baby, what's the matter with you?” He turned his body away from her slightly, and she chased after him, tsking in disgust.

“What happened to the Danny Zuko I met at the beach?” Betty raised her voice, and Reggie threw her a disdainful look.

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe there's two of us. Why don't you take out a missing person's ad? Or try the yellow pages, I don't know.”

“You're a fake and a phony and I wish I never laid eyes on you!” Betty stomped off indignantly until Miss Grundy called scene.

“Very nice. You two work well together.” Miss Grundy called up the next two students, and Betty escaped the stage with more butterflies in her stomach. She felt exhilarated that it was over with for the moment.

“Betty, that was good,” Ethel assured her.

“I was so nervous up there.”

“Get over it. You did fine. Think of how cool it would be if you got the part!”

“She was okay,” Reggie cut in. She didn’t rise to the bait.

“Thanks. I’ll try to keep up.”

They ran a few more scenes, and Miss Grundy paired them up again for the drive-in scene, which required them to sit next to each other on two folding chairs. It was awkward being that close to him, and she had to resist the urge to lean away. Her voice sounded unsteady to her own ears, and she raised it slightly to suit the mood:

“No, Danny!” Betty pretended to shove him away, and Reggie leered at her.  
“Sandy, don't worry about it, nobody's watching.” 

“Danny, get off me!” she insisted. Betty’s cheeks flushed when Reggie grabbed her arm.

“Come on, Sandy, what's the matter with you? I thought I meant something to you!” His voice sounded put-upon, a cajoling whine, and she felt his pulse in his grip. Betty’s heart hammered.

“Meant something to you! You think I'm going to stay here with you in this? This sin wagon? You can take this piece of tin!” Betty mimed throwing away the ring on her finger and she walked away from him again.

“Sandy, you just can't walk out of a drive-in!” The line evoked the laughter it was supposed to, and Reggie almost looked pitiful calling after her. Miss Grundy was chuckling while Mr. Flutesnoot made notes.

“We’ve got our Danny,” he murmured.

“What do you think of Betty?”

“Needs a little vocal coaching, but we can work with her,” he considered. “They’re funny.”

“Nice chemistry there.”

“He’s a little cocky.”

“We’ll work around that. I have the feeling she won’t let him get away with much.”

“Thank you,” Miss Grundy told them both. Betty and Veronica huddled down in their seats and shared a pack of gum.

“I want to be Rizzo so bad,” Veronica said. “She’s awesome.”

“You’d be a good fit as Marty,” Betty pointed out.

“True. But she doesn’t have any good songs.”

“That’s not such a bad thing,” Betty encouraged, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Singing wasn’t Veronica’s strong suit, but she was a decent actress and she loved exaggerating and hamming it up.

“Where’s Arch?”

“He’s at band practice. I’m meeting him later.”

“It would have been nice if he’d shown up to watch us,” Betty remarked.

“Why? So you can show off?” Veronica sounded indignant. “What’s with you, Betty?”

“Nothing. What’s your deal? Why do you sound pissed with me?”

“I just feel like you’re awfully buddy-buddy with him lately.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal.”

“I just wondered where he was, Ron. Chill out.”

“Then why are you always flirting with Archie?”

“I’m not!”

“You shouldn’t be, anyway. I thought you liked Jason.”

“I do, more or less,” Betty hissed, trying to shush them.

“More or less?” Ethel barged in. “That’s not how you’re supposed to feel with a guy who’s taking you out to the movies.”

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.” At least not in the middle of the auditorium.

“I wouldn’t make a big deal out of a date with that loser, either,” Veronica sniffed.

“Ron, shut up.”

“Why? Why should I? I still don’t get why you’re giving him the time of day.”

“Why don’t you like him, really?”

“I know Jay, and he’s a jerk. You can do better than that.”

“That’s what Reggie said,” Betty complained. “Both of you can leave me alone.”

“What’d I do? How did I become the jerk?” Reggie demanded as he came up by Betty’s elbow again, taking the seat beside her without permission. He swallowed up all of her space, and she smelled his cologne again and felt the heat radiating from his body. Her cheeks turned pink, something she hated.

“You two can commiserate together,” Betty sighed. “I’m leaving. Please move.” She skirted around Reggie’s knees awkwardly, flinching over the brief contact with him again.

“What was that all about?”

“Her date. Yuck.” Veronica made a face.

“No shit.” Reggie sighed. “I can’t stand that guy.”

“He’s not who she thinks he is,” she told him.

“I know that. My locker’s in the same row as his.”

“I went on a date with him once,” Veronica confessed. Reggie did a double-take.

“Wait. What?”

“It was a long time ago.” Her voice dropped down to a whisper when Miss Grundy turned around at the sound of chatter. “It was back when my parents wanted to send me to Pembroke.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Big mistake.”

“What happened?”

“He was a snake. He took me to a party with all of his friends. They were horrid to me. They called me a townie and a wannabe. And I’m not a wannabe, Reggie. No way. And all he did was laugh. He acted like it was fine, and like I was just being a crybaby.”

“Did he make you cry?” Veronica scowled.

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “He was so nice when he asked me out. He was always giving me compliments and making a fuss over me.” 

“That sucks.”

“And I hate his sister. She’s worse than he is.”

“Cheryl’s no prize,” Reggie grumbled. The redheaded bombshell had a huge ego, and she seldom let anyone get a word in edgewise. Reggie hated girls like that, because they didn’t give him a chance to shine.

“She keeps going after Archie,” Veronica told him sourly. “She needs to back off.”

“Arch needs to stop acting like he’s enjoying it,” Reggie argued.

“He doesn’t like her!” Veronica insisted, irritated.

“He doesn’t exactly hate her.”

“What have you heard?”

“It’s not what I’ve heard. She’s always all over him.”

“I’m gonna kick her ass.” The mental image of two pretty girls having a catfight appealed to him, but Reggie cleared it from his mind.

“He’s not worth it.”

“Don’t say that.” She sounded defensive, and Reggie could tell he’d gone too far.

“Carrot-Top’s no prize, either.”

“I’m a better judge of that than you.” 

And there was the problem, Reggie mused. All three girls thought Archie was a prize to be won, and that was how he kept them coming back.


	10. Dry Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Rehearsals after school don't equal the drama of everyday life for Betty.

Author's Note: Things have been nuts lately. I have tons of new fan art in my Archies group out on DeviantArt, both in my own gallery, and in the group that I mod, ArchiesComicsFans. I have a new Beggie piece out there, too, take a peek at it when you get the chance.

I keep getting inklings of where I want to go with this, but then they disappear. I scribbled a bit of my femslash piece, White Rose, yesterday, but that's the only action I've gotten from my writing muse. She's a fickle bitch.

Also, FYI: In light of the younger audience I tend to have on DeviantArt, that version of the story will diverge from this chapter, and that version will be cleaner in content. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Once in a while, I like to get away from smut.

"That wasn't too bad, kids," Miss Grundy called out, "but Betty, I had a hard time hearing you this last time."

"Sorry, Miss Grundy."

"Make sure you project," she reminded her. "But I like the mood so far. Reggie, nice job, but tone it down. Danny has an ego, but I want his vulnerability to show a little more. Remember, he likes Sandy, and he's showing off for her, but in the back of his mind, he doesn't think he's good enough for her."

"That's not my motivation!" he argued, giving his English teacher a put-upon look. "Whenever I watch the movie, Danny's the sh-... er, a hot shot." Miss Grundy rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Don't just go by the movie. Throw yourself into the part. Remember: Vulnerability."

"You make him sound lame," Reggie complained.

"Danny's a jerk for the whole first half of the movie," Betty chimed in, smirking.

"Sandy's a priss," Reggie countered.

"She's nice," Betty disagreed as she folded her arms beneath her breasts. Reggie's dark eyes dilated and tracked the movement, but he schooled himself to look back into her face. Her blue eyes mocked him.

"She's boring. All she does is mope around and sing a few love songs."

"Can we get back to the scene?" Miss Grundy asked impatiently. "Action." They resumed it, falling back into character quickly. They were roughly a foot and a half apart; Betty was reticent about standing too close, even though the scene would eventually involve them making physical contact.

And possibly a kiss. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

“No, Danny!” 

“Sandy, don't worry about it, nobody's watching.” 

“Danny, get off me!” she insisted. Betty felt that same tension from the first rehearsal, and her heartbeat was thrown off-kilter when he grabbed her arm. Reggie fought the urge to grin at the sensation of tension in her muscles, but he kept up the leer.

“Come on, Sandy, what's the matter with you? I thought I meant something to you!” 

“Meant something to you! You think I'm going to stay here with you in this? This sin wagon? You can take this piece of tin!” Betty exaggerated her "escape" from him. It got the desired effect; she heard chuckles from offstage.

“Sandy, you just can't walk out of a drive-in!” Reggie nailed it again, and this time his voice was full of indignation that his date was making her escape.

"Scene. Good." Miss Grundy leaned back and drank a sip of water.

"Better volume on your voice this time, Betty," Mr. Flutesnoot agreed.

"We're going to work on a little choreography pretty soon for this," Miss Grundy mentioned. "I want to see how you two work off-book. Memorize those lines at home. If you have to, run them together when you're not here. Make an afternoon of it." Betty hid her frown.

"Sure," Reggie shrugged, but he had his own misgivings.

Betty was spending all of her spare time either in the school library or with Jason, which rankled. Blossom puffed up whenever Betty was around, and it would have been comical if she didn't look so taken in by it. Reggie wouldn't admit that he wanted her to pay that kind of attention to him. Jay was always in possessive contact with Betty, with his hand at her back, arm around her, you name it. If Jason had his way, Reggie or anyone else would have to pry him loose from Betty Cooper with a crowbar.

She was distracting him, and it drove Reggie nuts. No matter what he was doing, any mention of Betty, hearing her talk about mundane crap like shoes with Ronnie, watching her file down a broken nail during geometry or chew on the end of her Bic pen cap, all of it made him pause in what he was doing to watch her. More annoying was the way she inevitably caught him staring. He was having a harder time recovering every time it happened.

Nuts. He was going nuts.

Her eyes always held confusion and surprise when she caught him. "What?" she'd invariably ask.

"What?" he's parrot, shrugging blandly, keeping his expression flat.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Ooookaayy."

"Why've I gotta be looking at you? You're sure full of yourself."

"Sheesh." Granted, it annoyed her, and he always ended up with that roll of her eyes that girls only reserved when a guy epically failed, but what could he do? Other than being a smart-ass.  
Reggie snapped back to attention, mad at himself when he drifted off again. Betty licked her thumb and turned the page in her script, and he felt a funny little shiver in his gut when he saw her pink tongue dart out like that. 

_Sheesh..._

They ran the scene at the football field, one of Reggie's favorites. He nailed it, but Miss Grundy chided Betty on not giving enough of herself when Sandy confronted Danny.

"You're supposed to be really mad at him. Let him have it. He was sweet during the summer, and now he's a total two-face with his friends."

"I know!"

"Have fun with it. Get mad!" Miss Grundy went back to the play book spread open in front of her as Betty took up her cue again.

"That's cool baby, you know how it is, rockin' and rollin' and what not." Betty's blonde brows drew together; she looked genuinely confused and disgusted.

"Danny?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out." Reggie flipped an imaginary jacket collar and guffawed over his shoulder to the other T-Birds, who elbowed each other behind him. Betty rolled her eyes. Ronnie primped behind Betty and looked amused, vamping as "Rizzo." Miss Grundy made her swear to get a voice coach, since she fit character well, but she still hit frequent sour notes when she sang her solo.

"What's the matter with you?" 

"What's the matter with me, baby, what's the matter with you?" 

"What happened to the Danny Zuko I met at the beach?" Betty threw out her hands and was the picture of righteous indignation, looking like someone who had been cheated and given false expectations. Reggie smirked.

"Well I do not know. Maybe there's two of us. Why don't you take out a missing person's ad? Or try the yellow pages, I don't know." 

"You're a fake and a phony and I wish I never laid eyes on you!" Betty gave him a hard shove that made him let out a barely audible "Oof!" He resumed character and gave his fellow T-Birds high fives and elbows. Betty had the stage movement on point; it was cool to watch her walk away in the guise of being pissed off.

"Scene. That was fun to watch." Miss Grundy looked pleased until she peered down at her rehearsal schedule and checked her watch. "Okay. Musical numbers. Sandra Dee. Betty and Reggie, you can sit down. Nice job." Miss Grundy reached furtively into her purse as Veronica skipped back up onto the stage with her sheet music. She didn't notice her English teacher popping a couple of antacids before Miss Haggly began the opening bars of the song. Offstage, Brigitte sighed, wishing she had bitten the bullet and tried out for Rizzo, but it wouldn't have felt right. She wasn't that feisty, glamorous character; she was the school's fat girl and wallflower. It would never fly.

Veronica took her time flipping through her sheet music until Miss Grundy sighed and reminded her "It's already on the stand, Veronica."

"Sorry. My bad." She hurried over to the stand and waited for her cue from Miss Haggly. The plump, aging teacher cracked her knuckles and found the keys for the opening bars of Rizzo's number, and everyone steeled themselves.

"Look at me, I'm Sandra Deee..." Veronica's chest bounced with every verse, proving she didn't know how to breathe through her diaphragm. But she was getting into it, aping some of the dance moves and facial gestures from Stockard Channing in the movie. Betty shook her head and smiled silently from her seat in the front row of the auditorium. She admired her bestie's charisma, and she had to be supportive. The only consolation any of them took from each rehearsal was that Cheryl settled for the roll of Marty, and it was a perfect fit. Miss Grundy cut her musical number from the play, citing a time constraint for showing the play during school assembly hours.

"Won't go to bed til I'm legally wed, I CAN'T! I'm Sandra Deeeee!"

"Watch that high note! Breathe, Ronnie, breathe!" Miss Grundy coached. She elbowed Flutesnoot subtly and murmured out the corner of her mouth, "Pull her aside and see if she'll rehearse with you on her study hour."

"You must hate me," he muttered back.

"Better you than me." Miss Grundy resumed her encouraging smile without missing a beat. "Better!" she called out. Veronica smiled and cranked up the volume.

Archie winced but smiled at his girlfriend's efforts as he dug in his backpack for his Tic-Tacs. Ronnie was cute when she was being a drama queen. She was possessive, but despite that, she treated him pretty well as a boyfriend, and he made a point to indulge her with his full attention.

Most of the time.

Betty was sitting alone on the edge of the row down in front. He sauntered up and sat beside her without asking permission. Reggie sat sprawled behind her in the second row, watching Ron slaughtering her theme song with smug amusement. He didn't notice Reggie stealing looks at the blonde in front of him periodically, or how he sharply stopped as soon as Archie closed in on her. 

Betty's stomach warmed with delight as she caught a familiar whiff of cologne and felt his elbow nudge her. "I could barely hear you from the middle row," he whispered in her ear. His breath tickled her, and she tried to suppress a smile, despite his criticism.

"I'm working on it."

"Step it up. Sandy's shy, but she's not quiet," he reminded her.

"No chatter back there," Miss Grundy hissed at them. 

"Sorry," Betty apologized, blushing.

"Yeah, Carrot-Top, keep it down," Reggie added dryly. "Some of us are trying to rehearse."

"Was that what you call what you were doing up there? You sucked," Archie muttered.

" I said, QUIET!" Miss Grundy ordered. Miss Haggly stopped playing her piano and twisted her body around on the bench.

"If you keep interrupting our rehearsal, you'll have to leave," she warned them.

"Keep it down, Reggie. You already rehearsed your part. You don't have to stay for the rest of the practice."

"I don't have anywhere I have to be," Reggie shrugged, giving them a sheepish smile. "I'm good." Flutesnoot nodded, then gestured for Miss Haggly to continue. Veronica pouted at her friends. Archie mouthed "Sorry" from his seat, but it didn't pacify her. Reggie took advantage of his teachers returning their attention to their prospective "Rizzo" and swatted Archie upside the back of the head. Archie turned on him, ready to take umbrage, but Miss Grundy gave them a warning hiss. Reggie smirked in victory, enjoying Betty's low tsk of disgust.

By Ronnie's fifth rendition, their ears begged for mercy and they were all tired of sitting in the cramped seats. Ethel and Jughead each nodded off periodically, jerking awake every time Veronica hit a sour note. Dilton dutifully worked on his trigonometry homework as he waited for the set design meeting while Brigitte mouthed the words to the song wistfully, still wishing it was her.

"That's good enough for today," Miss Grundy assured her when Miss Haggly sat with her fingers poised and raised to pound the keys again. "I think that about covers it. Keep rehearsing at home, dear!"

"Sure," Veronica piped up cheerfully. She trotted down the stairs from the stage, and Archie dutifully stood up and handed over her backpack, helping her into it. "How was I?"

"Great," Archie lied.

"You killed it," Betty assured her, hating to shine her on, but she was her bestie, after all.

"Yeah, you did," Reggie deadpanned, putting the wrong emphasis on his words. Ron narrowed her eyes at him and flipped him off. He snickered.

"I'm starved," Archie piped up.

"Me, too," Veronica chimed in.

"Choklit Shoppe?" Jughead suggested hopefully. "Arch, spot me five bucks?"

"Sheesh."

"Mooch," Reggie accused. "Get a job."

"Being awesome's a full-time job in itself," Jug shrugged. "Let's eat." He grabbed his Jansport bag and toyed with his drumsticks, beating out a tune on the arms of each outer chair as they walked up the ramp and filed out of the auditorium.

Miss Grundy leaned back and stretched in her chair. "I'm so glad that's over."

"Five years, three months and fifteen days til retirement," Flutesnoot soothed.

"That last one almost gave me aneurysm. I don't think I'll last that long."

"At least she's hitting the high notes. Motrin?" With no further reply, she held out her palm. "I didn't say she was hitting them well, did I?"

 

*

 

"All right. For the amoeba study, I want you all to team up and grab a partner." Mr. Flutesnoot held up his hands as his class began to chatter and circulate around the room. "No. I'll choose your partners. I don't want best friends working with best friends, or two chatterboxes sitting at the same table. And I don't want to see only one person doing all the work while the other one sits there and files their nails." He looked pointedly at Veronica and Cheryl and cocked his eyebrow, coughing for emphasis.

He went around the room. "Dilton, you can work with Ethel today. Moose, go with Jughead. Midge, you're with Nancy. Chuck, you're with Maria. Frankie, sit with Jason." He heard exasperated muttering and a few low "Yay's!" as he continued to make his selections. "Let's see... Archie, Archie... you're with Cheryl."

"What?" Veronica barged in. "No. No, no, no. No, he isn't."

"Veronica, I've already decided." 

"Well, undecide!" Cheryl smirked as she moved her books to Archie's table. Veronica planted her hands on her hips. "Go away!"

"You heard what he said," Cheryl purred, narrowing her green eyes at her competition.

"Go," Flutesnoot insisted, suppressing a sigh. Oy. These sophomores had it in for him, surely. "Veronica, sit with Sabrina." Betty could have sworn that Veronica growled under her breath.

"Shoot me."

"Chill out," Betty encouraged.

"I hate her," Veronica whispered under her breath. 

"Sabrina's cool."

"She's a spazz," Veronica hissed. Sabrina pretended she was reading her Game of Thrones novel, but she smirked over the cover, enjoying the drama playing out on the other side of the room. Today, she had her platinum blonde hair tied up in two snug little Princess Leia buns at her temples and long bangs, her striking blue-gray eyes lined in kohl, and wore a Happy Bunny tee that said "I'm cute. You're not. Now, didn't that work out great?" Veronica rolled her eyes. Sabrina was nice enough, but hopelessly weird. She dragged her books to Sabrina's lab table and opened up her notebook while Sabrina went up to the counter up front and took two petri dishes and two slides. The rest of the class gradually lined up behind her. Betty raised her hand in confusion. 

"Who am I working with?"

"Reggie's the only one left. I just assumed you'd head his way," Flutesnoot shrugged blandly.

"Me? With Reggie?"

"That's the general idea."

"Wow," Betty muttered under her breath. Reggie materialized behind her and snickered. She stared stonily up into his lazy brown eyes.

"Shake a leg, Cooper. Go get us some slides."

"Get them yourself. And get over yourself," she suggested, making a face.

"Hey, one of us has to do all the work."

"So you can file your nails?" Betty retorted, but her lips quirked.

"They could use some buffing." Betty rolled her eyes.

"You get the slides. I'll get the scope."

"Great. I get the bossy lab partner," Reggie complained. But he admired the view of Betty's back pockets on her way to get the microscope.

They used the eye droppers to squirt the bacteria and fixative onto the slides to create their specimens. The chatter settled to a dull buzz as everyone focused on the assignment with varying levels of enthusiasm.

"I'll give you five bucks if you eat it," Moose challenged Jug.

"Make it ten."

"We get to do the penny lab next year in chemistry," Ethel mentioned casually as Dilton increased the exposure on the microscope.

"We already did it."

"Wait... you did?"

"They let me enroll in chem this year, too."

"Wow," she murmured, awed. Dilton was so smart it was scary. But he was so casual about it.

"It was fun. I made a few gold pennies."

"What did you do with them?"

"Nothing yet. I dunno. I thought about taking them to the amusement park, to those little stands where you make the souvenirs?"

"Cool. You could use those little charms to make jewelry," she suggested.

"Well, I might not," he considered. "But you could, if you wanted."

"Oh. No. I couldn't take those from you."

"Why not? I'm not doing anything else with them. You're crafty," he pointed out. Ethel had begun wearing her scarves that she knitted for herself once the weather had started to cool off. She had one of them, a mottled mohair one in warm tones of rusty gold and brick red, folded up on top of her text so it wouldn't dangle down into the lab solutions or get in the way. Ethel blushed at his words and hid her smile. "You could probably make something nice with them."

"Speaking of crafty, how's the set going?" Dilton beamed. 

"Good. Decent. I'm having fun with the car."

"You guys are having an actual car onstage?"

"No. But I'm building the prop. It's pretty big, and we are using scrap metal. Moose is helping me, he's doing pretty good in metal shop this semester." Ethel looked doubtful as she watched Moose shooting rubber bands at the back of Chuck's head. "Moose has his strong points... kind of," Dilton allowed, raising his eyebrows at his best friend's antics.

"Sure he does," Ethel deadpanned. And he wasn't lying; Moose had his moments. He held doors and occasionally let Ethel go ahead of him in line if he couldn't make up his mind what he wanted for lunch. Midge knocked him into shape once they started dating, gentling the giant, and he followed her like a puppy. But once in a while, she'd still see him in the halls, spinning a basketball on his finger or playing quarters with Frankie and Fangs, having burping contests or performing other such feats of genius.

"Come see the set," Dilton mentioned out as he slid the second slide under the lens.

"When?"

"Today. After rehearsal," he suggested as he continued to stare through the lens. It was hard to read him while he was concentrating on the assignment, and seemingly not on her.

"I don't want to get in the way."

"You won't. Take a look." He backed away and turned the scope toward her, adjusting it for her as she peered at the specimen. He made sure the exposure was slightly lower for Ethel, since she had sharper vision than he did and wasn't wearing glasses. Ethel reached absently for her notebook and her hand bumped Dilton's as he passed it to her. "Sorry," he hedged.

"That's all right." She blushed again and started to scribble a sample diagram as part of the lab questions. Dilton started labeling the cell body components and jotted down the scope's exposure. They occasionally bumped elbows as they worked, and Ethel felt a funny, fuzzy warmth being in such close proximity.

He was cute. Cute as a button, something no one else ever noticed about their class genius. Dilton was clean-cut, wiry, and had impish good looks. His ears stuck out a little and he had intelligent brown eyes behind his glasses.

"Have you ever worn contacts?"

"They're not that comfortable. I prefer these." Dilton shrugged up at her. "Why? These too nerdy?"

"No! Of course not. I was, uh, just wondering. That's all."

"I never thought I looked any better without glasses, but that's because I can't tell what I look like without them, anyway. My vision sucks."

"Aw." Ethel chuckled. "They look fine." Dilton smiled and shook his head.

"No big deal, even if they didn't, I guess."

"You have nice eyes," Ethel blurted out. Dilton's eyebrows rose and he self-consciously adjusted his spectacles. He cleared his throat.

 _Right_. I'll just shut up, now. Ethel felt like a doofus. She didn't mean to embarrass him, but the words slipped out. Now he'd know she liked him, and she'd be mortified - as usual - if he told her he didn't feel that way about her. Ethel was tired of striking out. She didn't want to make things "weird" between them, but it was hard.

Dilton felt hard pressed to stay on task, but it was hard to avoid small talk. Ethel was just... Ethel. Easygoing, approachable, and she actually listened to him. He didn't bore her, and she was genuinely interested in his projects and the places he'd been, things he'd seen.

And she did that funny little thing when she scrunched up her face before she laughed, as though she didn't want to let out the sound. Her almond-shaped gray eyes had long, thick lashes, something that no one noticed at first glance because of her other more angular features and slightly prominent front teeth.

She had... pizzazz. In her own funny way, Ethel was good looking. Even if she did tower over him.

"So do you." Ethel did a double take. Dilton hastily scribbled more notes that he didn't need.

"What?"

"Nothing."

*

 

"Bitch," Veronica muttered as she stared daggers across the room.

"That's right. Finders, keepers," Cheryl murmured under her breath as she sidled up to Archie and leaned in too close while he used the scope.

*

 

"You could be taking notes," Betty pointed out.

"I will," Reggie promised. 

"How about now?"

"You're not the boss of me." He folded his arms across his chest for emphasis. Betty's hand automatically planted itself on her hip.

"Am, too."

"Are not."

"I'm gonna tell."

"You eat boogers."

"You bite farts." Betty's blue eyes gleamed with the challenge of one-upmanship.

"Your slip's showing."

"Your barn door's open."

"That doesn't sound like note taking over there," Mr. Flutesnoot pointed out. His expression was flat, but he was suppressing the urge to laugh.

"We're taking notes," Reggie assured him innocently as he began to scribble on the worksheet handout.

"Uh-huh."

"We are," Betty chimed in.

"I want to see you two at rehearsal today, not in detention."

"Got it."

"Good." Mr. Flutesnoot walked away, but not before he threw "And no more fart-biting" over his shoulder. "I don't know what's wrong with you kids, these days..."

Betty and Reggie sniggered. At the next lab table over, Jughead facepalmed in disgust.

 

*

"Bets." Betty fumbled with her combination lock, at first not hearing her name from down the hall. "BETTY!"

"Huh? Oh. Hi." She pried open the locker door and returned her geometry text to the top shelf. She wasn't expecting to see Reg for another hour, and her stomach was already knotted with the prospect of another rehearsal with him, being in close contact. He was such an egomaniac, and she felt overshadowed and like a wallflower whenever they had to share the stage. She had to admit, he was talented, but... it sucked, feeling inadequate in comparison, even if she did get the lead part.

"Where you headed?"

"Health class."

"Have a nice nap."

"I know."

"I already took it as an elective last quarter, so I don't need any more."

"Don't rub it in. So, what's going on?"

"Are you... doing anything this weekend?"

"Why?" Her brows drew together and she cocked her head, staring at him in confusion. Reggie suddenly doubted himself, hating the cold knot that formed in his chest, but he pressed on.  
"I wanted to run some lines. I want to be off-book by the end of next week." He leaned against the locker beside hers, taking up her space. She instinctively stepped back to better meet his gaze.

"You are. So am I."

"I want to run the lines again outside of rehearsal."

"Okay," Betty shrugged, still slightly baffled.

"You're playing it too safe," Reggie reasoned, shrugging back.

"Wait... what?"

"You are. You're not... I don't know. You're playing it too safe."

"No, I'm not!" Betty snapped. Her cheeks were turning pink, and a little divot appeared between her brows. 

"You sound good, but you don't sound like Sandy yet."

"You're full of shit."

"I don't mean anything bad by it! Don't take it so personally, Cooper. I'm just saying..."

"You're always 'just saying' whatever comes out of your big mouth, Mantle. There's nothing wrong with how I've been reading my lines!"

"That's the problem," he told her, throwing out his hands. "You're good. I'm not saying you're not good. But all you're doing is 'reading your lines.'" He made quotes with his fingers. "You're holding back."

"You think I'm holding back. Great. That's great. Thanks."

"I'm trying to be constructive."

"You always do that. You always...do that thing."

"What 'thing'?" he asked defensively, jerking back and looking innocent.

"That thing, where you tear me down."

"I'm not tearing you down. I want to work out a few kinks with you."

"There aren't any kinks. Miss Grundy likes it so far."

"She does. I know. But you could really bring it even harder."

Betty fumed, feeling a mixture of emotions that she fought to keep off of her face. Chief among them was embarrassment, because in some way, he wasn't wrong.  
Betty wanted Reggie to be wrong. She always wanted him to be wrong.

She was playing it too safe. That burned her. In the back of her mind, she did picture Olivia Newton-John in her slick ponytail and poodle skirt and cardigan when she read... no, performed her lines. Betty felt disappointed in herself, but more than anything, that the one person whose opinion she hated herself for caring about had reached inside her, taken hold of her doubts about herself, and dragged them up to the surface.

"I'll keep practicing, but I don't think it'll help if we run lines together," she muttered around a burning in her throat. She averted her eyes from his face, difficult with him standing so close.

"How could it not help?" His mouth was set and stubborn, but she ignored it.

"It just won't," she insisted, trying to keep her voice level. Betty slammed her locker door, a clear sign that, once again, he'd gone too far. Reggie flinched.

"We work well together," Reggie pressed. "Bets... Bets! C'mon..."

"Bye." She ignored his sigh behind her, fuming all the way to tenth period, books clutched at her chest. Her heart pounded beneath them and her eyes burned.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath. _Well, that went well_...

 

*

Betty ignored Archie and Veronica's conversation as she took her seat. She dug in her purse for a wintergreen Tic-Tac to distract her mouth and to overcome the urge to cry. It frustrated her that she couldn't talk to Ronnie alone and get her tiff with Reggie off her chest. Veronica was more focused on flirting with Archie, anyway, so it was moot. Her day was rolling downhill fast.

At least it was almost over. Betty frowned when she heard her phone buzz in her purse. She reached down inside and opened it without taking it all the way out, and the tiny screen lit up with the message "You have (1) txt msg." The classroom was almost full, and her teacher was busily checking her own voice mail at her desk and getting organized.  
It was Jason's number. Betty managed a smile as she opened it.

_What are you wearing?_

One-track mind. That was Jay. Betty sighed and clicked her phone shut, keeping it on vibrate.  
At least someone appreciated her.


	11. Dry Run, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See previous summary. Betty mans up and goes along with Reggie's suggestion.

Reggie tossed his backpack onto his bed once he got upstairs and kicked his door shut, fuming. How the heck did he end up putting his foot into his mouth?

Betty hated him. If she didn't before... sheesh. Fuck. Reggie plowed his hand through his hair and threw himself onto the bed, too, and just stared up at the ceiling.

Two steps forward, five steps back. Every time he felt like he was making a little progress with Betty, he mucked it up. It would help if he even knew what he wanted. The craziest part was, Reggie didn't even remember when he started wanting Betty in the first place. She'd worked her way under his skin.

Being in the play with her was daunting. It was the most time he'd ever spent in close contact with her, which thrilled him and scared the shit out of him at the same time. It was so hard... so hard to keep his cool, when she was right in front of him, playing that role of the adoring shy girl who wanted his attention. It blurred a line between them, because stepping into that role of "Danny" gave him the chance to show off unhindered, and to get a small taste of what it would be like for Betty to genuinely like him.

But she still hated him. Reggie huffed, hating the irony. She was a better actress than she gave him credit for, then, wasn't she?

Her glossy, watery eyes made his gut twist. He wished she wasn't so sensitive, but worse was that she was mad at him for seeing her that way. Reggie hated angry tears. He was used to them by now, certainly. Face-to-face breakups usually earned him tearful tirades and the occasional slap in the face. A flash of memory hit him, bringing back the feel of packed snow in his gloved hands; the tug-of-war with a handmade scarf; the whizz of bicycle wheels over gritty, sandy pavement; red, damp cheeks and blue eyes accusing him of being the most evil boy in the world.

Okay. Maybe she was just a little justified in hating him. Just a hair. Maybe she had reasons not to trust his judgment and to take it just a little personally when he criticized her. Just a teeny bit. Maybe he'd been too hard on her.

For that matter, maybe he was always too hard on her? Reggie threw himself up from the bed, propping his elbows on his knees. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and growled.

"I'm an ass," he muttered. "She hates me. Hates me. Hates. Me." He punctuated each word with a rap of his fist against his temple. He thought for a moment, hating the silence of his room. His concert posters, overflowing hamper and Jack Skellington bendable figure grinning at him from his computer desk all had no answers for him.

He contemplated the computer for a moment. He didn't have Betty's number. But wasn't she on Facebook? An inkling of an idea launched him from the bed. He dug his iPhone from his backpack and plugged it into the speaker cradle, leaving it on shuffle. The sounds of Floater filled the room as a welcome distraction as he logged on to his PC.

There were ten thousand Elizabeth Coopers on Facebook. He groaned as he skimmed the first page. Great. He tried a different tack. "Blossom," he muttered, letting his fingers fly over the keys. "Jason... Blossom... asshole..." There were a mere handful, three of which had no profile picture, but he expected nothing less than the profile image of Jay fronting, grinning smugly and tugging his shirt up to expose his chest. Yeah. That was Blossom. Reggie clicked on his name, bringing up his basic info. Small blue type told him "You and Jason share 50 friends." Big deal. Reggie didn't want to have anything in common with that guy.

Except maybe Betty. But Reggie wanted her for himself.

He scrolled through Jason's friends' list, surprised that he hadn't locked up his profile more tightly. A person could find out anything about the guy with it being so public.

Bingo.

Betty's profile showed her vamping with Nancy, and he recognized the outfit and fancy updo that she wore to the dance. It looked like it had been taken in a bedroom, probably after they had gotten ready. The image made him smile, even though he still kicked himself for that night, since Jason gained more leverage with her, despite his warnings.

Betty's profile wasn't as public. The most that she'd posted was that she went to Riverdale High, so they shared a network. Interestingly, her profile didn't say "In a relationship."

"Yes!" Reggie fist-pumped and clicked on the link that said "Send Elizabeth Betty Cooper a message." His day was looking up. Now, if only she would send one back...

Reggie didn't think too long about what to say. He kept it safe, even though his stomach was knotted and his palms began to sweat.

_Hey._

_I meant it when I said I want to rehearse with you. I know you don't agree with me, and I guess I'm on your shit list right now. What else is new?_

_Call me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like I thought you couldn't act. I'd never say that._

_I'm sorry, Betty._

Reggie left his cell at the foot of his message, took a deep breath and hit send. Okay. He'd done it. Maybe she'd still hate him, but at least he threw it out there. At least he'd feel a little less like crap.

He leaned back and stretched in his computer chair, yawning deeply. Reggie was worn out. Play practices, basketball practice, a history report, guitar lessons, all of it weighed on him. That was one of the reasons why he'd broken up with Dolores, he supposed. He just didn't have the time to give to her, and she wanted all of his attention.

He didn't have that to give her, either, when he couldn't keep it off of Betty Cooper. Reggie emptied his backpack, excavating it and cleaning out old, crumpled work that had already been graded, Taco Bell receipts, gas station receipts, his gym shirt and shorts that needed a good wash... phew. Stinky. He made a face and hook-shot them into the hamper, where they cascaded off the pile.

His computer speaker beeped at him. He hadn't logged off yet, figuring he'd bullshit for another few minutes and play Words with Friends before he worked on his report. A message popped up onscreen.

"You have one new message in your Inbox." He scuttled back into his chair and opened it, noticing the one that said "Re: Hey..."

"She actually replied," he muttered. His heart pounded. Betty was online. Now. Right now. He was entranced by the message header flanked by her avatar that smiled at him. His eyes hastily scanned the words, too few of them for his liking.

_Sure. I guess._

_When?_

"When? When... when... shit," he muttered, pondering in a panic. "I don't know. You tell. Me. I'm. Open." He finished typing his reply and sent it off. Pending triumph curled his lips.

Three seconds. Four. Five.

Score.

_Tomorrow, I guess. Whatever you want. Meet me by the field house. That's where I park._

"YES!" Reggie winced at the volume of his own voice, hoping his mom didn't hear him spazzing out. Over a text. From Betty.

There was definitely something wrong with him.

After rehearsal.

*

Betty sat back from her computer desk, adrenaline rushing through her veins, hearing her heartbeat all the way up in her throat. What had she just done?

"What am I doing?" she asked aloud. She'd arranged to meet with Reggie Mantle? Her? Betty Cooper? She wondered if gremlins hijacked her brain.

Still... there was something about his note, and the plaintive tone in it. He sounded like he was really sorry. That was new... Reggie never apologized. Ever.

Betty was confused. This wasn't like him. Not at all. It was weird enough when he approached her at her locker, certainly. But for one moment... and she was annoyed at herself for having to admit it, it seemed... like... he was softening up toward her. Yet she almost got pulled in. He suckered her again, didn't he? She didn't want to fall for the old Mantle charm if she could avoid it.

That left one question that Betty wasn't sure she knew the answer to: What if she didn't want to avoid it?

*

There was something charged between them during rehearsal. Betty felt an attack of butterflies when Reggie sat down next to her in the first row of seats. Miss Grundy lectured the cast and laid out the schedule for the next week.

"I want my Marty, Rizzo, Jan and Frenchie here tomorrow for the slumber party and prom scenes. Kevin, we're going to concentrate on your solo for the Beauty School Dropout number on Tuesday. Keep practicing at home." The strawberry redhead beamed and nodded.

"I'm on it!"

"We still on for today?" Reggie asked. He sounded hopeful. Betty cleared her throat and nodded.

"Yup."

"Meet you at the field house?"

"Uh-huh." That was it. There was her proof that she really sent back those emails yesterday; she wasn't imagining things.

"Wednesday, we'll have the Summer Lovin' number. I want to work out some kinks, and I want all of you practicing the choreography. Thursday, I'm working with the Greasers. Warm up your singing voices! Practice makes perfect."

"I'm so nervous," Ethel confessed on a whisper. Betty squeezed her hand.

"You'll be fine."

"I've never been on stage before in front of a big group."

"It's a piece of cake," Veronica assured her as she refreshed her lip gloss.

"Easy for you to say." Veronica was nonplussed. Betty wished she had her best friend's confidence, as usual, and the rigid belief that her shit didn't stink. "I feel like I'm not ready."

"Then you're not," Veronica pointed out. "Keep practicing. If you think you're gonna bomb, then you'll bomb."

"Sheesh," Ethel muttered. She should have known better than to expect empathy from the princess.

"You're gonna look pretty hot in that pink wig," Reggie joked, and Betty was surprised that he didn't sound snide.

"Hey, I like the wig!" Ethel defended, and she smirked back. "I make that look work!"

"Pink hair is the new black," Betty agreed. It was hard to focus on Miss Grundy's droning voice and her friends when Reggie's cologne was distracting her, as well as his arm grazing hers from the other side of the arm rest.

She wished the rest of the rehearsal had gone as smoothly. They worked off book, and while Betty remembered her lines, she missed half of her cues.

"Watch that timing, Betty. Don't come in late."

"Sorry."

"Got the jitters?" Miss Grundy suggested, one eyebrow raised.

"I guess. No. Kinda."

"Right. Jitters." Miss Grundy sighed and clapped her hands for everyone's attention. "Everybody, take five." She pointed to her watch. "I want everyone back when that clock says three-thirty."

"Thank God," Veronica muttered. "I need a Pepsi."

"I second that, but make mine a burger." Jughead popped a Corn Nut into his mouth from a half-empty package.

"I have to go to my locker." Betty excused herself, glad to stretch her legs, and she needed a moment to think. She decided to pack up her gym clothes so she could take them home and wash them, and she wanted to "excavate" her locker to clean out accumulated papers and junk.

She was so rapt in what she was doing that she yelped when a pair of large, warm hands clapped themselves over her eyes. "Boo!"

"Shit!" She jumped and lurched back against her captor. She heard a masculine chuckle and felt his chest bounce against her. Familiar cologne tickled her nostrils.

"You little shit," she gasped as she pried Jason's hands away and turned on him. He grinned down at her halfhearted scowl and tickled her. "Don't DO that!"

"Aw, c'mon," he cajoled, reaching for her. His hands crept around her waist and she gave a little "oof!" as he pulled her against him. She pouted and lightly socked his arm. "I couldn't resist. You made it too easy."

"Brat."

"Why were you zoning out?"

"Nothing. Just figuring out the rest of my day."

"That's easy. Go to the movies with me." Betty's shoulders sagged.

"Can't." His auburn brows drew together, and he held her slightly away from him.

"Why not? What's up?"

"I have somewhere I have to be. I'll call you when I get home."

"Where are you headed? Cancel," he shrugged. Betty toyed with his shirt collar where it stuck out over the neckline of his wool sweater and sighed.

"I don't want to cancel. I have to meet someone."

"Yeah, you do. Me."

"Jason. Sheesh..." She tried to look away from him, but he caught her chin. His expression was less cajoling, more demanding, and she felt the tension in his body.

"Who are you meeting?"

"Reggie. Why?" Jason's hand at her cheek dropped, and suddenly she missed his caress. Instead, his grip tightened around her waist.

"That's what I wanna know. Why? Why are you meeting that loser? Uh-uh."

"What?" She scowled and jerked back.

"No. I don't want you meeting him. Tell him no."

"That's ridiculous. Of course I'm meeting him. I already told him I would."

"For what?"

"To go over our lines again."

"Bullshit. You just rehearsed."

"I want to work with him a little more on the parts I'm having trouble with."

"You sound fine to me. Who says you're having trouble?" Jason accused, sounding more and more defensive. "Tell them they're full of it."

"Nobody in particular," Betty hedged.

"What? Mantle?" Jason scoffed. "What does he know? He's a Travolta wannabe! He's criticizing YOU?"

"He just thought it would help. So did I." But hearing Jason's ridicule, even though it wasn't directed completely at her, made her feel small and awkward. Then a hint of steel crept into her spine, suddenly, as she realized: Why am I letting him boss me around? What am I, five? 

"It doesn't matter. I think I could do better, too. I'm going to go meet Reggie. Call me later if you want." Betty pulled away after kicking her locker door shut. Jason hurried after her, dumbfounded.

"Hey... hey! Wait up! Hold on..."

"I'm running late. Bye, Jay." He caught her wrist and refused to let go until she faced him again. His scowl was puzzled.

"So you're meeting him."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't care what I think?"

"I didn't know you were thinking anything out of the ordinary."

"There's nothing 'out of the ordinary' about it. He likes you."

"He doesn't like me like that!" she insisted hotly, throwing up her hands. "Jay, are you jealous?"

"NO!" His reply was too fast and too insistent, and his cheeks flushed. Annoyance made his green eyes spark. "I'd never be jealous of that poser."

"And you shouldn't be. You have nothing to worry about."

"Prove it." Betty shrugged and closed the gap between them. Her fingers hooked themselves in the collar of his sweater, grazing his pulse, and she stood on tiptoe, kissing him with smug aggression. She fought the urge to giggle at his "mmmph..." of helplessness. His large, warm hands settling around her hips and the way his lips yielded to her will filled her with triumph.

Strangely, something held her back. Betty couldn't explain it. It was as though the gloss of their kiss wore off for her. It wasn't that he wasn't sexy, surely... but her mind wandered. Betty had the odd feeling that something was missing in the contact, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She tried to focus on her body's reactions to his touch, his mouth, the heat of his body, but she overthought it.

Jason opened his eyes, faintly drowsy with passion as he stared into her face, then cocked his head at her. One auburn brow rose accusingly. "What's up, Bets? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she assured him cheerfully. "Call me?" she said plaintively.

"Yeah. I'll call you." Jason kissed her temple and let her go reluctantly.

"Bye." He watched her walk away about ten paced before he turned his back on her, heading toward the field house to get his gear from his gym locker. He heard the faint groan of a door hinge across the hall from him.

"Why do you bother?" his sister snorted. "Of all the girls you could pick, Jay... Cooper? Ick..." She made a sound like a cat choking up a hairball.

"Shut your face," he sneered. "Go. Play in traffic. Go shopping. Suck a dick. Just don't bother me."

"I'm telling Mom!"

"Cher," he whined. "God... it's none of your business. Seriously."

"It's none of my business if you want to embarrass us both by dating that gold digger?"

"Betty doesn't care about that."

"Sure she doesn't," Cheryl tsked, folding her arms beneath her ample breasts.

"She's cool. Can't say the same for Andrews, though."

"Get out of here with that shit. Archie knows a good thing when he sees it. It's not about the money with him."

"Cher, he knows a sure thing when he sees it. Archie's a dog. Let Ronnie have him, fer cryin' out loud. Don't waste your time. And definitely don't waste your money. He's broke as a joke." He nodded at her outfit disdainfully. "Raise that skirt hem a little higher, Cher. They can't see your camel toe from the city limits, yet."

"Asshole," she hissed, slugging him. "I hate you."

"I'm heartbroken."

The Blossoms shared none of the fabled closeness that people always assumed twins possessed. Jason and Cheryl were rivals for their parents' attention from the moment they were born, and every waking moment in their household was a chance for a pissing contest.

Jason often hated his sister's wardrobe and constant flirting. If she didn't get her way, Cheryl threw tantrums until their parents backed down. Her Sweet Sixteen cost half a mortgage on a three-bedroom house. Horseback riding lessons, a Mercedes coup, ziplining, safari trips, second row seats at the runway for Fashion Week, you name it; Cheryl whined, pouted and cried for what she wanted, and their parents spared no expense. Jason was more subtle about it, deciding to catch more bees with honey. He often caddied for his father on the golf course, ran his errands, and hung out with his friends' boring kids at garden parties. He often tucked hundred-dollar bills into Jay's hand, with a muttered "Don't tell your sister." Jason knew how to work the system. He didn't deny he was spoiled. He just wasn't a whiner.

It wasn't always that way. When they were younger, Cheryl was at least kinda fun. They beat each other at Monopoly and climbed trees and conducted experiments where they threw various things off the roof to see what would land first. But once she got her braces off her teeth and ditched the pigtails, Keds and gummy bracelets, Cheryl changed into someone he didn't recognize.

"Stay away from her," Cheryl warned him. "I'm serious, Jay. Betty might seem like a goodie-goodie, but she's just using you."

"Using me for what?" he snapped.

"What do you think? So she can make a certain full-of-shit center on the basketball team jealous." Cheryl grinned smugly, green eyes twinkling devilishly.

"Seriously?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "Geez, Cher."

"Not to mention Archie," Cheryl mentioned casually, "not that she has a chance with him, anyway, but she follows him around like a puppy. It's kinda sad. Funny, mind you, but sad." She sounded proud of herself as she examined one of her French manicured nails and picked at it.

"Betty's into me. And anyway, Archie's a tool. And you know what, bitch?" he flipped back, enjoying the way her mouth dropped open. "If Betty were still into Archie, she could take him from you, and you hate that."

"Shut. Your fucking. Mouth." Her eyes narrowed venomously and she jabbed him in the chest with her finger. Jason slapped her hand away.

"Get outta here, Cher."

"Don't ever compare me to your little gold digging, townie piece of trash," Cheryl yelled after him. Jason winced slightly as he retreated, then smirked. He loved getting his sister's goat.

Cheryl fumed and stomped down the hall to her locker, wanting to place a wide berth between herself and her twin. His smug voice made her blood boil, and she wanted to leave her size seven Vivienne Westwood pump up his rear...

She reconsidered. "That'll waste a perfectly good shoe," she muttered while she worked her combination. She gathered up her gym bag, geometry book and her sunglasses to wear on the ride home; the afternoon sun filtering through the trees was exceptionally bright. She set down her books and bag to shrug into her cropped denim jacket, and she almost yelped as she felt a pair of hands taking the task from her.

"Need help?" Cheryl grinned as she turned to meet Archie's friendly face. He picked up her backpack and handed it to her, but held onto her gym bag when she reached for it. "I'll walk you out," he offered. Her demeanor and mood automatically brightened, and when he glanced back over at her, Cheryl's smile was radiant and flirtatious.

"Thank you," she cooed, staring up at him through her lashes. He followed her outside to the field house parking lot, and Cheryl clicked her alarm button as they neared her red Mercedes. "Need a ride anywhere?"

"Nah. I parked my car on the other side."

"I could save you some gas if you let me take you for a ride," she suggested sweetly. Archie's cheeks turned slightly pink beneath his freckles, and he chuckled dismissively.

"That's okay, but that's sweet of you, Cher."

"I try." She decided she would just need to try harder. She picked a piece of imaginary lint from his sweater. "This goes well with your eyes."

"Thanks. Ronnie gave it to me." Cheryl wrinkled her nose briefly, but recovered her bright smile.

"Good choice." The slate blue knit and white turtleneck that he wore underneath set off his red hair and fair skin well, and his lean body, broad shoulders and narrow waist made the look work. She mentally licked her lips and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. She opened her car and was grateful that she'd cleaned it out, not needing to beg him to excuse the mess. "I can take that," she said, gesturing to her pack. He handed it to her, and she exaggerated the effort of bending and leaning inside the car to secure it on the floor, treating him to a perfect view of her back end and long legs.

Archie's crotch tightened violently and his lips tightened. His body temperature ratcheted up another two degrees and he had to back up from her before he did something truly-

A car honking at him jerked him to attention, and he whirled to see Veronica in her silver Lexus, glaring at him with narrowed dark eyes. The sudden blare of her horn startled her rival, and Cheryl bashed her head on the edge of the doorframe as she straightened up.

"Shit! OW!" She jerked around and hissed at her, "Just saying hi wasn't an option?"

"Get bent," Veronica snapped. "Arch, get in."

"I've got my car out there," Archie gestured, completely chagrined.

"I'll drive you to it," Veronica informed him. "Get in. Now." His dark red brows beetled together, conveying his immediate reaction of What the fuck?

"I was just about to take him there," Cheryl cut in.

"My legs aren't broken," Archie muttered, shrugging.

"He wasn't about to go anywhere with you."

"What? He can't?" Cheryl snarled, pulling a face and folding her arms under her breasts.

"He wouldn't go anywhere with you," Veronica corrected her coolly. "I'm saving him from being seen with you in that... thing you're wearing. Skank."

"Heifer," Cheryl hissed. "Fuck off."

"I know you didn't just call me a heifer," Veronica warned her, cutting off the engine. That was Archie's cue to get his ass in the passenger seat.

"Cher? Bye." He darted into the car, slinging his books into the back in one smooth motion and jerking on his seatbelt.

"Sure. Bye, Cher," Veronica told her with a saccharine, hard little smile. Cheryl mimicked her expression, gave her a princess wave, then flipped her the bird as Veronica restarted her car and drove off.

"I hate her," Veronica growled.

Rowrrr, Archie mused to himself. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me. Why were you talking to her?"

"I just walked her out. I was being polite."

"Whatever. You weren't even going in the same direction."

"What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? Are you kidding? She was shaking her ass in your face!"

"No, she wasn't!" he insisted guiltily, and not too convincingly. She narrowed her eyes at him over the steering wheel.

"I know what I saw."

"There wasn't anything to see."

"She's trying to get with you."

"I'm not trying to get with her, so it doesn't matter if she is." Archie bit his tongue too late; Veronica's back was up, and her Lexus jerked to a halt, brakes screeching. Archie felt the bite of the seatbelt and let out a tiny "oof!"

"So you think she is, too!"

"Ron! C'mon! No! Uh-uh. I don't think that at all."

"Yes, you do!"

"She's not my type!"

"She's everybody's type," Veronica challenged.

"You're jealous of Cher?"

"NO!" He kept digging himself deeper, but Archie had a choice.

A) Pacify Ron and spend some money on her. B) Admit that Cheryl was flirting with him and risk a kick to the balls. Or C) Distract her.

He wasn't sure if the distraction he ordered was the one he'd have chosen when he saw a familiar blonde emerge from the field house, accompanied by Mr. My Shit Doesn't Stink himself. "What the hell?" he snarled under his breath.

"What? We're not done here."

"Look." He pointed out the window.

"Okaaaaay... what am I looking at?"

"Bets. With Reg."

"She mentioned they were going to rehearse," Veronica shrugged.

"They already did!"

"So?" Veronica honked her horn and waved; Betty waved back, and Reggie merely nodded a What's up? in their general direction.

A strange flare of jealousy bloomed in Archie's chest, and his mouth tasted sour.

"Here," Veronica told him as they reached his car. Archie was distracted as he watched Betty and Reggie turn onto the main street and stop at the red light. "Call me when you get home." She took his hand and halted him from getting out. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Where's my kiss?" He dutifully leaned over, biting back a sigh of exasperation. But she took charge of the kiss, nipping at his lip and making him yelp. Frustration gave way to a flash of lust. Veronica's fingers curled in his collar, and his crept into her soft hair, anchoring it back from her smooth cheek. They lingered there for a minute, their low sighs and heavy breathing underscored by Veronica's satellite radio and the hum of her engine. Archie felt heat sweep over him, consuming him. Betty was forgotten in that moment, which was typical...

Her breath hitched when she felt a warm hand teasing her breast, and she broke the kiss abruptly. "Quit it."

"You started it," he huffed. She swatted his hand away.

"Just call me."

"What'll I get if I do?" he smirked. She chuckled and shook her head. "No? Denied?"

"You get the profound privilege of my affections." Veronica didn't tell him that seeing him with Cheryl temporarily guaranteed him a place on her shit list.

"I thought I had them a second ago."

"Copping a feel doesn't count." He leaned over part of the way, giving her a mischievous look. She sighed and allowed him another kiss, chaste, then two, three, four before she shoved him back. "Bye."

"Later." He wasn't sure if he was disappointed to leave the lush interior of her car, or relieved. Archie had a raging erection and a ton of homework waiting for him. He climbed into his old junker, and she drove off before he even had his key in the ignition. He saw her manicured hand waving out the window in her wake, and Archie shrugged.

"Whatever." The throbbing heat between his legs twitched insistently and created a bulge that made his distressed jeans feel too tight. "Quit it," he muttered down to it futilely.

*

Betty told Reggie she would follow him, but she wasn't expecting them to head to his house. She frowned but parked in front of his house to avoid blocking him or his parents' familiar Lincoln. "I thought you wanted to meet at the park," she argued as he met her at her car, hands in his pockets. He shrugged nonchalantly and beckoned for him to follow him, waiting patiently as she locked up her car.

"No big deal. It's quieter here, and it's getting cold out."

"I'm warm enough."

"Eh. C'mon. Want cocoa?"

"Ooh. Yes." The thought appealed to her.

"Good. You make it." She tsked, shaking her head.

"Got anything to eat?"

"Let's raid the cabinets.

They headed up the front steps and she waited patiently while he keyed the front lock. "Your mom keeps it locked when she's home?"

"They took Dad's car," he explained as he swung the door open to let her in first. He caught a faint whiff of her perfume and felt a funny tingle run over his flesh. He watched her walk into his living room and peer around, smiling at her surroundings; he felt proud that she seemed to like what she saw.

"It's nice. I see your mom likes blue."

"Not really," he said, keeping a straight face until she shook her head at him. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "Not that much." Every cushion, every art print, every ceramic and glass knick-knack and every stitch of carpeting was some shade of blue. A framed family portrait of them hung over the fireplace, and it looked like it was taken when Reggie was about five.

"Cute," Betty murmured.

"I wasn't cute. I was handsome," he corrected her.

"Humble, much?"

"Hey, I've got self-esteem issues, be nice." She elbowed him, and he rubbed his arm, pretending she'd hurt him. "Don't hurt me again!"

"I said I was sorry."

"Kidding."

"Brat. And feed me, already. Sheesh. Starve a growing girl when you invite her over. Come to think of it, you didn't even really invite me over!"

"Kitchen's this way. And technically, I did. I invited you to rehearse. I just changed the venue."

"Ah. A loophole."

"I take every one I can get."

"I get that about you."

They headed into the kitchen, and Betty finally realized with clarity that they were alone in his house. She hugged herself slightly as he opened the cabinet above the microwave and took down two mugs. He handed her the one printed with pansies and violets, while he kept the one with Ren and Stimpy. "Love that," she told him, nodding to it.

"I have every episode on disc."

"Make me a copy."

"Why? Just watch them when you come here."

"When am I going to come back here?" she challenged, but she grinned at his hurt look. "Kidding."

"You're mean," he mock-sniffled, rubbing his eye with his knuckle. That made her giggle, and his trademark wolfish smile was back. "Seriously. Come over whenever you want. We can run through the scenes again before opening night."

"I'm scared shitless," she admitted, letting out a shaky breath. He rummaged for the cocoa packets and sharply ripped them open, emptying them into the mugs. "I can do that."

"You're my guest. I was messing with you. Chill. Take a load off." He filled them at the sink, and Betty toyed with her ponytail uncomfortably as she listened to the beeps of the microwave keys and the door's thunk as he slammed it shut. "You're that worried?" His dark eyes held sympathy that she wasn't accustomed to as he pulled up a stool, sitting opposite her at the butcher block table. He leaned forward on his elbows and regarded her casually.

"Yeah. I guess."

"You'll be great."

"That's not what you told me before. And what if I suck?"

"That wasn't what I said. I just said that you were good, but could be great. And you won't suck." She sighed heavily. "You won't."

"I don't know," she hedged.

"What? You don't believe me?" He arched one heavy black brow at her, and she giggled nervously.

"I'm not used to believing you," she admitted.

"Ouch..."

"Well, I'm not. I never know what to expect from you sometimes."

"I'm not that bad," he argued. "What?" he demanded when she gave him a dubious look and folded her arms.

"Uh, hello?"

"I'm nice to you!"

"You're a punk!" The microwave interrupted her with a shrill ding, and Reggie turned away from their conversation, annoyed, reaching for an oven mitt. He set the cocoa before her and found two spoons.

"I'm not a punk," he muttered.

"Okay. You have your moments."

"My moments?"

"When you're not leaving frog parts in my science book in lab, or snapping my bra straps like you did in seventh grade, or sneaking up on me at the water fountain to make me squirt myself in the nose..." She ticked off each point on her fingers, giving him a flat look that was only half-sincere.

"What? If I didn't like you, I wouldn't give you a hard time."

"Oh, so that's it." She stirred her cocoa and shook her head at him. "You're something else."

"What the heck does that mean? What do people mean when they say that? 'Something else' than what?" he prodded.

"It means you're a character."

"That doesn't sound any better," he accused with a snort before he took an experimental sip of cocoa, then hissed when he burnt his tongue. "Shit!"

"It's too hot," she chided him. "Be careful."

"Tell me that after I burn myself," he suggested, words faintly garbled as he probed his tongue with finger and thumb. "I hate that. My whole mouth will feel like sandpaper for the rest of the day."

"I know. That sucks." She toyed with her cocoa, continuing to stir it. "Nah. You're cool." His brows rose. "You are."

"That didn't sound convincing. But thanks for giving me an inch."

"Any time," she smirked. He rolled his eyes. She giggled, and that appealed to him. She had a great laugh. Her blue eyes darted away from him bashfully, then peered back up at him in that funny little way that he'd seen her look, occasionally...

... at Archie. Or at Jason.

Geez.

"Food?" she reminded him. "Then let's run some lines."

"Sure. Oreo?"

"Yes, please!" He reached into the pantry and withdrew a half-empty package of Golden Oreo Double-Stuf cookies. They ate a few, dunking, unscrewing them, licking up cream, neither of them standing on ceremony. Betty started to relax in the clean, but slightly cluttered kitchen. She took in small details, like the photo magnets on the fridge with pictures of Reggie at varying ages, in different team uniforms; an overstuffed bill box with a rooster tole-painted on it; a row of various pairs of shoes piled under the coat hooks along the wall by the back door; a shelf over the dishwasher teeming with dry foods; a pile of magazines, recipes and clipped coupons sitting in the middle of the table between them. It still just felt odd, almost disembodied, sitting across from him in his home.

A pang of guilt nagged at her. She never told Jason that she was going to Reggie's house.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she assured him.

"You sure?"

"Jason wanted me to hang out with him."

"So? You have to rehearse," Reggie scoffed. "Mr. Wonderful’s gonna have to pine away for you for an hour or two."

"Am I staying that long?"

"Do you have to hurry home?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"No. Not really."

"Hang out, then." His eyes studied her so intently that her cheeks turned pink.

She looked pretty when she did that. Not for the first time that day, Reggie seriously hated Jason Blossom.

The put away the snacks and ran lines, moving the table out of the center of the room, "spotting" and moving to their usual positions that they assumed onstage. Betty fell back into the dialogue with familiar ease, and it actually felt more natural without having her friends watching her in the auditorium. They ran the scenes from the drive-in and the football field a couple of times each. Reggie exaggerated his lines a few times to throw her off, making her giggle, or ramping up his gestures, turning up his shirt collar, thumping his chest, pretending to comb his hair. He was enjoying himself, and it was infectious.

"Silly."

"So? Nobody said I couldn't be."

"That's why you nail it," she admitted.

"Which you could, too." He closed in on her, edging into her space, making her step back. Every time she retreated from him, he'd nudge her again.

"What're you doing?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

"Shove me," he told her.

"Why?"

"Pretend we're at the drive-in," he reminded her. Don't just shoo me away. Really shove me. Fight me. I'm in your space. I'm up in your grill." She kept feinting away from him, half-convinced he was crazy, but it dawned on her that he had a point. "You're still pissed at Danny for fronting with his friends when you rolled up in the courtyard with Rizzo."

"Because he was acting like an ass," she mentioned.

"So? Show me. Let Sandy give him a piece of her mind." He bumped up against her, and she felt a spark of something unnamable that made her face heat up all the way to her hairline. His smirk was back, and she couldn't stop one from twisting her lips, too. He bumped her again, and she gave him a little shove, tsking.

"Danny?” And with his character's name said out loud, Reggie started channeling Danny again. There was that smug look, one that he owned and perfected after years of practice.

“That's my name, don't wear it out.” He leered at her and chucked her under the chin.

Betty's heart hammered, but she went with it. “What's the matter with you?”

 

“What's the matter with me, baby, what's the matter with you?” He looked her up and down, making her feel self-conscious, and her body reacted to it violently, to the hint of huskiness that crept into his voice, that little "How YOU doin'?" look in his eyes, cocky and self-assured.

In those intense brown eyes, so quick to change expression, pupils dilating as he stared into hers...

“What happened to the Danny Zuko I met at the beach?” she demanded, rising to the challenge he threw down. There was desperation in her voice. He shrugged, and his voice dripped with sarcasm, something she was so used to him, and she wasn't sure if it was Reggie or Danny asking her the question.

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe there's two of us. Why don't you take out a missing person's ad? Or try the yellow pages, I don't know.”

“You're a fake and a phony," she pronounced flatly, throwing up her hands, assuming a defeated posture that made him grunt in surprise, "and I wish I never laid eyes on you!”

"Do you?"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Do you think I'm fake, baby? You wish you never laid eyes on this?" He gestured, and her eyes flicked over him, taking in his body in one quick, sweeping glance.

"What are you doing?"

"Go with it. Ad-lib with me. Be Sandy."

"How will that help?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "It just will. Play with me. Just go with it."

Her insides twisted at the words Play with me.

"You're... cute, I guess," she sniffed disdainfully. He was affronted, the picture of disbelief. She almost laughed.

"Cute?!"

"Even that's being generous, Mr. Zuko."

"I can be generous, too, babe." She turned from him, but he lurked over her shoulder, and she felt his finger twirl itself in her ponytail, then tugging on a lock of it just enough to smart. "I'll give you what I didn't at the beach this summer..."

Flip-flop. Flip-flop. Her stomach wasn't cooperating, taking a cue from her racing pulse and the erratic beats of her heart. She exhaled a shaky breath.

"You're not the man I thought you were, Danny. And you know what?"

"What, babe?" She turned on him, backing up against the counter and folding her arms, the picture of rebellion. Her chin jutted stubbornly, but her eyes were smug.

"I don't think you're man enough to give me what you tried to at the beach."

Whoa.

Reggie's smile evaporated in a flash, and his nostrils flared. Betty saw a vein in his throat jump, and out of the corner of her eye, his fingers clenched into a snug ball at his side. "You don't, huh?"

"You could never be man enough for m-"

She didn't remember when he closed the space between them, when her world was upended on its ear or when she mysteriously ended up moving away from the counter... right. That was right, she decided, it was when he jerked her to him, abruptly, strong fingers closing around her elbow, and she could swear she felt him shudder slightly when his body crashed against hers.

He was in her grill again, completely. Unapologetically. The kitchen around them fell away and the floor felt like it dropped out from beneath her feet when his hands found her narrow waist, locking around it. "Bets," he muttered.

"Sandy," she reminded him. "I'm Sandy."

"You're sexy," he corrected her hoarsely.

"What?" she squeaked, eyes widening in surprise. Her palm rose to his chest, beginning to shove him away, but he felt... solid. Hot. Firm, and her fingers felt his rapid heartbeat, racing at the same pace as hers.

As hers...

"Just go with it," he murmured, inclining his face toward hers, not pleading, not asking permission, only allowing her two and a half seconds to make up her mind. She licked her lips.

"This isn't ad-libbing..." He shook his head and her voice died off as his breath steamed her lips. When had she let him get that close? she wondered.

"Go with it," he whispered, barely grazing the corner of her mouth; she was craning her face up toward him instead of ducking away from the moment he touched her, not trying to avoid what now felt inevitable, maybe even from the moment that they walked into the kitchen. She smelled cocoa and vanilla cream on his breath, then tasted it on his lips, which were smooth, firm and hot as they caressed hers experimentally. Her blood rushed in her ears and she went up in flames. She had no clue what she was doing, how this was happening, but her body sought his out, pressing into him, hands exploring that hard plane of his chest, even trembling at the low, throaty groan he made as his mouth brushed over hers again, urging her to reciprocate. Hers pushed back at him, and he gently nipped at her full, sweet lower lip until she opened for him. Betty sighed in her throat and her fingers found the lean column of his throat, curled into his rich dark hair, and his hands... they were tearing down her defenses, making themselves at home with her curves, the dip of her lower back, the dent of her narrow waist, and she felt his fingers tangle in her hair... this wasn't the same Reggie who used to pull her pigtails.

No.

This Reggie was a different animal, determined, possessive and insistent. His tongue teased the seam of her lips until she let him in. He felt perfect, tasted perfect, as though his mouth were made for her. Each velvety stroke invited her to sin with him, to focus on nothing but him, to drown in him. It was heady and frightening, addictive, dangerous, insane; use whatever word you wanted to define the havoc happening inside her, screaming for release.

He'd been bursting with tension from the moment she came into the house, completely unsure of himself despite his usual swagger. Every time he opened his mouth, he half-expected her to tell him to fuck off, certainly nothing new. She'd think he was playing with her, he figured; she'd tell him he was full of shit. That he had no game. That she'd see through him, and somehow, just... find him... lacking.

Reggie's conversation from the tryouts came back to her in an unwelcome rush. She remembered it sharply, because it had been so unwelcome and pissed her off so much:

“Bets… just… don’t get your hopes up about that guy.”

“It’s a date. It’s no big deal. He likes me.”

“So?”

“That’s a good reason to go on a date with somebody most of the time."

“That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of guys like you, Bets, and you don’t give all of them the time of day.”

“I guess you know something I don’t, then. No one’s knocking down my door." 

“Then pay attention once in a while. But don’t waste your time on Blossom. Or Archie.”

“What the hell? Why are you bringing Archie into this? Is this Stick My Nose into Betty’s Business Day? And why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You still like him.”

“Butt out."

It floored her.

Reggie Mantle had a thing for her. How the heck hadn't she picked up on it before?

And why was she so frustrated that it had taken so long for him to act on it? Why did it thrill her that this was actually happening? Why was he driving her crazy, coaxing those moans from her chest, cradling her face, tracing its contours with his fingertips, lips and warm breath to make her shiver? Why was she clinging to him? Why did his body fit so easily against hers, every slope, every hollow?

Why the hell was she asking herself so many stupid questions?

"Betty," he husked into their kiss.

"What?" she demanded, voice shaking with need, sounding nothing like her.

"Quit thinking so much."

"Okay..." He gradually turned them around and backed her against the kitchen stool until she sat up on it, and her leg hooked itself around his as he urged her to continue, making their embrace more encompassing, more complete.

It was unreal to him, heady, strange, yet perfect. The focus of all his childhood mischief and admiration was straining against him, yielding to him, murmuring his name in a way that he craved, that drove him crazy and turned him on, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. She answered all of his longtime what-ifs, solved the equation of what it would take for them to get this far, how he would reach this bliss, how many turns it would take for him to catch the brass ring.

They came up for air, panting, staring into each other's eyes, questions shining in their depths. Her palm cradled his cheek, gently stroking it with her thumb.

"Why?"

"Why not?" he shrugged, at a loss, coming up empty when he tried to rummage for a suitable wisecrack out of his arsenal.

"Because," she insisted hollowly, unable to hold his gaze any longer. She looked away from him, shamed.

"Because, what?"

"You know what."

"You're not serious about him," Reggie shrugged. His fingertips gently turned her chin, making her look at him. She sighed in frustration, punctuating it with a little growl.

"Don't say that."

"Why not. You're not."

"You don't know that."

"You wouldn't be here." Reggie regarded her thoughtfully, and his eyes pleaded with her. "Would you." He leaned his forehead against hers, and she shivered, closing her eyes against that expression that was undoing her.

Why, her brain demanded. Why not, her body countered.

Jason, they chorused back.

That was why not.

"I shouldn't be. This isn't right."

"Yes, it is."

"No. This isn't cool. This isn't me. I don't do this."

"What? Enjoy yourself with a guy?"

"Reggie, stop it."

"I don't want to," he admitted, toying with her hair again.

"You know what I mean. I don't just run around on the person I'm with."

"How many people have you even been with?"

"That's none of your business. Unless you want to tell me how m-"

"Nah. We won't go there."

"I didn't think so," she told him coolly, but she eyed him knowingly. "You're bad."

"I'm a good boy," he argued. His fingers were busy at the crown of her head, loosening her ponytail holder. She looked puzzled as he unsnapped it and tossed it on the table.

"You are, huh? What are you doing?"

"You never wear it down." He combed his fingers through her long, gleaming sheaves of hair, enjoying its softness and weight.

"I like it pulled back."

"It was killing me. I've always wanted to see it like this." She sighed, and her hands crept around his waist.

"Don't change the subject."

"I like this one better."

"We can't do this." But her body betrayed her, leaning into him as he took from her again, tugging her hair to make her give him access to her throat. "Reggie," she whispered in surprise as the hot, liquid velvet of his tongue traced her pulse and set her on fire.

"We're already doing it."

She was clinging to him again, hands tangling in the hem of his shirt, and he groaned in approval as they crept under it, fingertips teasing his taut abdomen. She couldn't believe she was being that bold, but for so long, she wondered how his skin felt, how it would be to touch him like that. This was the body that filled out a basketball uniform so well and distracted her every time he walked by. She tried to retreat, but he caught her hand and held it there, even dragging it up to his chest, where she felt his heartbeat again and grazed crisp hair. He jerked when she accidentally brushed his nipple, making it stiffen.

"We can't," she pleaded with him, and this time she was insistent, breaking away from him and standing up on shaky legs.

"We can if you say we can."

"Then we can't. I'm with Jason, Reggie." He exhaled heavily and threw up his hands.

"What can I do to change that?"

A key in the front door startled them both. "Shit!" Betty hissed under her breath. She panicked and spun around, searching the kitchen. "Where did I leave my jacket?"

"Why?" Reggie asked, baffled. But two sets of heavy footsteps came toward the kitchen, and Betty caught her reflection in the window, noticing that it was dark outside already, and the kitchen's overhead light showed her how disheveled her hair look, tidy ponytail completely gone. Just as she saw Reggie's mother's low-heeled pump cross the threshold of the door, she made a hasty grab for the ponytail holder.

"What smells like cocoa?" Ricky Mantle wondered as he entered the kitchen just behind his wife. Reggie's mother, Victoria, looked surprised to find his son had company.

"Hello. Have we met?"

"Sure," Betty admitted cheerfully, albeit awkwardly. "Um, you drove us to the museum for our fourth grade field trip."

"Ahhhh," she agreed, nodding. "I knew you were familiar. I think I remember you had pigtails before?"

"Bingo," Betty demurred, absently rubbing her neck.

"You've grown," Ricky teased.

"Dad," Reggie muttered in disgust at his father's corny attempt at wit. Ricky clapped his son's back fondly. "Betty, I went to high school with Hal."

"You did?"

"Yup. We both played football together. Your pop had a mean tackle."

"So he tells me."

"He showed me your photo that he had in his wallet the other day when I ran into him at Pop Tate's on my lunch hour. Looked like it was taken at the semiformal this past fall?"

"I bet it was."

"You clean up well. So does this guy, when he gets a haircut."

"Dad," Reggie whined this time. Betty snickered; parents were a pain, but this time she was grateful that her mom and dad giving her a hard time, especially in front of someone she was interested in.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Victoria asked as she hung up her coat.

"Um..."

"You can," Reggie told her.

"Mom's expecting me home. I should at least call her." Then Betty reconsidered, hating her own decision. "Better yet... I'm sorry. I'd better get home. I have a test to study for." She tried to avoid Reggie's naked look of disappointment, steeling herself against it. "Thanks so much for inviting me, though."

"Any time. Some other time," Ricky offered.

"It was nice meeting you. Again," Reggie's mother quipped, laughing at her own joke. Reggie rolled his eyes.

"I'll walk you out."

"Good night, Mrs. Mantle. Mr. Mantle." She waved, heart still pounding at almost being caught in a clinch with their son. She still had goosebumps, and she had no doubt that her face was still red. Her legs felt wobbly on the way out to the car, from a combination of Reggie's presence and his hand at her back, and their near-discovery by his folks. At least they were nice, she mused. Reggie flicked on the porch light on his way out the door, but halfway down the front walk, he stopped her.

"Bets," he began.

"We can't do this," she told him. "I'm sorry."

"You like me," he said.

"Reggie, it doesn't matter."

"You didn't tell me no. That means you like me, so it does matter." He took her hand and squeezed it, trying to pull her against him again, but she ducked her head away.

"I can't do this. Reggie... I don't know what to say. You like me, but you wait til... it's not fair. It's not fair to me. Why try to start something with me when someone else wants to date me first?"

"I wanted to date you before!"

"That doesn't help now." She squeezed his hand, but let him down when she released it and pulled away from him, unlocking her car. "I like Jason, and he likes me. He told me he liked me a long time ago, and he didn't play games with me." Reggie scowled.

"Who's playing a game?"

"You are, right now. I'm sorry. I just wish... never mind."

"Bets!"

"Good night, sweetie." Betty's throat felt tight and dry as she climbed into her car and closed the door with a low slam. Reggie huffed as he stepped back, and she drove off uncharacteristically fast.

"Shit," he said flatly. "What the hell. What just happened?" He felt bereft, hollow and confused as he walked back into the house.

*

Betty reached her own driveway and put her car in park, fuming. Once the ignition was off, she sat and thumped her forehead against the steering wheel helplessly.

"Why?" she moaned. "WhywhyWHY?" She sighed and scowled at her reflection in the rearview. Her hair was a hot mess. She retrieved her forgotten ponytail holder and quickly fixed her hair, combing her fingers through it and tying it back as well as she could without the aid of hair gel. It would have to do.

She felt petrified in hindsight of what she had done, but also what she almost said:

I'm sorry. I just wish you had told me before. Then we might have had a chance. Because I like you, too, and I'm afraid of what could happen between us, Reggie.

Why were men such confusing animals? Betty's stomach twisted itself in knots as she trudged up the front steps, backpack dragging on the ground.


	12. Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archies star in the play they've rehearsed so hard for, and things get harder for "Danny" and "Sandy" than ever before...

Author's Note: I'll move this farther along soon; the play has toyed with me for a while in my head, because I see so many parallels between those characters and Reggie and Betty. Good girl, bad boy. Romantic and relatively pure vs. a guy who's been around the block. Same basic idea, if you ask me. In the movie, too, Danny went after Sandy only after she started showing interest in Lorenzo Lamas' character, and I wanted to capture that here. Not everyone wants the loose, fast girl like Rizzo (Veronica? Cheryl?); some want the good-natured, down-to-earth girl waiting in the wings, waiting to be noticed (Betty).

I was going to wait another "year" in the progress of this story to have Reggie and Betty get involved, but I was impatient. There will be stumbling blocks, however, because I can't iron out all my wrinkles at once and make this too fluffy. Reggie likes Betty, but in many regards, he's still a jerk. Archie hasn't forgotten about Betty. Jason is crazy about Betty, but there's a side to him that we haven't completely seen yet. There's a reason why Betty can't instinctively let herself fall COMPLETELY for him... can she? *Refer back to that kiss scene from last chapter, where she lost the "spark" that they shared before.*

There will be rivalry. Catfights. Fist fights. Angst. Possible smut. Minor characters chiming in from the peanut gallery. More grumbling from worried parents and teachers. And embarrassing moments aplenty.

Additional Note: The play Grease was written by Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey. I don't own the dialogue or any of the song lyrics referenced hereafter, nor do I make any money.

Betty's hands shook so badly on her third attempt with the eyeliner that Veronica took pity on her, wrestling the pencil from her sweaty grip. "You're messing it up. Here, let the master take over."

"Thanks. I'm a wreck."

"You'll do fine. I can't believe this is it. It seems like no time at all went by since we tried out."

"My stomach hurts."

"It's just nerves." Veronica was cool as a cucumber, and Betty was jealous of her costume. She wore a short, dark shag wig styled in messy waves, a knee-length, black pencil skirt, saddle pumps and back-seamed black stockings that showed off her legs, and a scoop-necked, red angora sweater with a chiffon scarf knotted at her neck. Her makeup was heavy and dramatic, complete with a little beauty mark she penciled on over her lip.

By contrast, Betty was more demure than she'd ever looked, feeling like she was reliving her first Communion when she was seven years old. She wore black Mary Janes on her feet, white stockings, a pink poodle skirt that reached past her knees and that was wide enough to swirl out in a circle if she spun around, and a simple white blouse. She topped it with a pale blue cardigan, and she tied her hair up in her customary ponytail, but this time, she curled her bangs and pulled a few tiny pin curls forward that hung in front of her ears. A pink scarf was tied around the base of her ponytail in a neat knot. Betty had already made up her face in foundation and a generous layer of blush, but her lipstick was a medium pink, just dark enough to make her mouth stand out when she spoke her lines.

The eyeliner was her undoing. Veronica sighed. "Hold still."

"I can't. I'm all jittery." But Veronica gripped her jaw and leaned the heel of her hand against her cheek to steady her grip.

"Look up." Betty obeyed, praying she didn't get jabbed in the eye with the pencil, but Veronica expertly, neatly lined her lower lids. "Close them." She worked on the upper ones more quickly, making the outline sharp, but not too thick. "There. Not bad." Betty peered in the mirror and nodded.

"Good. That's good. Okay. I can do this." She wiped her palms on her skirt, and both girls spun around at the sound of Ethel's wail.

"I can't find my pineapple wig!"

"It's with the props!" Dilton called out. "I'll get it!" Her smile of relief sent him running into the prop room backstage. 

The set crew was moving the back drops onstage already for the front of Rydell High and the bleachers for the first musical number. Miss Grundy borrowed furniture from various departments on campus, such as cafeteria tables and benches, gym mats, tables from the teacher's lounge, hurdles from the gymnasium, and styling chairs lent by Riverdale Beauty Academy. Betty was impressed at how the crew managed to capture the mood and feel of the movie with lighting, projected images against the curtains of the outdoors and actual hallways of the school.

The girls prepared themselves, assembling their costume changes on racks that hung beside the changing tables, the garment bags labeled with each character's name on it. Veronica surprised everyone by being the first one ready in full costume, when she was usually known for her primadonna behavior when it was time to suit up for football games or put away her cheerleading gear. The boys' changing room was actually the shop lab across the hall from the auditorium. Miss Grundy and Miss Beasley policed the halls, making sure no one "meandered" into the wrong dressing room for a random peek.

Reggie isolated himself from his castmates once he was in costume, running his lines alone under his breath in front of a mirror. His voice was steady, but he was breaking a sweat and his fingers actually felt icy cold. Getting the jitters was for punks, he tried to convince himself. But it wasn't working out.

He had Betty on the brain. It was hopeless.

The kiss dogged his waking hours and haunted his sleep. He replayed the moment she turned her back on him and drove off over and over again, and it was killing him. Reggie sighed and sat back in his chair, where he began to tear a tiny makeup sponge into bits, balling them up and flicking them across the table.

A finger poked him sharply in the left shoulder, but when he turned, there was no one there.

"Whassup, man!" Chuck hooted from his right side. Reggie smirked and gave him a brief fist bump. Chuck was already dressed in a fifties-style bowling shirt, jeans that were rolled up at the cuffs, a white tee and dark Keds. "What's goin' on? Why are you hiding over here?"

"Who's hiding? Just chilling out til we go out there."

"Right. You're hiding."

"Shut up."

"C'mon. Run lines with us. Gotta get psyched up, Reg. We're playing to a packed house."

"I haven't even looked out there yet."

"Then let's go!" Reggie scrambled up from his seat after checking one last time that his hair was all right. He followed Chuck into the hall and around the corner to the rear door of the auditorium.

They crept backstage and peered around the edge of the heavy curtain. Reggie saw Jughead and the rest of the orchestra members warming up in the pit in front of the stage. Jughead omitted his usual hat and dressed up in a freshly pressed white shirt and black dress slacks, a first for him. Reggie felt a tightening in his gut as his eyes roved around the auditorium. Seats were filling up fast, even in the upper tier of seats, and his palms began to sweat.

I shouldn't be nervous. I can do this. I've been practicing for weeks. This will be a walk in the park. Reggie's confidence faltered, and he was getting scared. He almost felt like a hypocrite to school Betty on her stage fright if he was going to give in to his now. That was a big factor in his lack of certainty; Reggie had to get his own lines and timing right, but he also had to make Betty look good, read her cues and body language, maintain that chemistry between them.

It was the chemistry that was scaring him. Betty had been evasive with him outside of rehearsals for the last week, keeping their interactions brief. Worse, Jason was all over her, giving him little entry for conversation. It rankled him. Reggie wanted to cry foul and tell him, straight-up, "I saw her first."

And Betty wasn't even ignoring him. Every time he looked at her, he found her eyes glancing back, then ducking away before anyone else noticed. It drove him nuts, and Reggie wanted to pull her hair, poke her, anything to get and keep her attention for more than five minutes.

"Geez," Reggie muttered aloud.

"Feeling psyched up yet?" Chuck thought he just had regular jitters. Reggie began to sweat and felt slightly sick.

"I can do this. Sure. I can do this." Chuck frowned.

"Dude, are you turning green?" Reggie opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. He turned on his heel and hurried out of the backstage area. Chuck winced. "Ooh..."

Reggie barely made it back to the changing room, and he managed to get to a wastebasket in time to toss up everything he'd consumed in a five-hour time span. His mind demanded of his stomach, Is that corn?? His stomach answered by evicting every last fragment of dinner until he grew lightheaded. Reggie wasn't even aware that the room was still occupied. Over the sound of his own gagging, he heard several "Ews!" peppered with "Dude, that's nasty," and "You all right, man?"

"Right. Nerves. I hope." Mr. Flutesnoot hustled over with a towel and a water bottle. "Easy, son. You're not coming down with anything?"

"No," he gasped, leaning away from the can's fumes and peering up at his teacher and advisor with bloodshot eyes. "Couldn't help it."

"Give him some air," Mr. Flutesnoot snapped at his cast mates as the gathered around the spectacle. "It's nerves. Everyone gets them every now and again. You've all rehearsed and worked hard these past few weeks. Don't fret. We'll knock 'em dead!" Reggie bowed his head in shame but still took the proffered water bottle and swished out his mouth. "It's okay," he assured him, squeezing his shoulder. He took away the offending trash and tied up the bag, humming under his breath as he ran it out to the hallway. Reggie was lightheaded and euphoric but still reeling.

"You okay, man?" Chuck inquired as he caught up to him.

"Dude, that was sick," Fangs informed him, wrinkling his nose.

"Don't get up in his grill, Fangs," Bingo reminded him with a gruff slug.

"Back off," Kevin added tersely. "You got some in your hair..."

"Geez..." Reggie looked into the mirror and was mortified at his state.

"Easy to fix. That's what makeup is for. And Visine. I stockpile the stuff at home." Kevin took out the makeup kit and unscrewed the lid to some pancake foundation.

"I don't need the makeup."

"You're all blotchy. Hold still." Kevin grabbed his jaw and Reggie suffered the indignity as he daubed some beneath his eyes and over his cheekbones. "Nerves, huh?"

"I can do this. I can nail this," Reggie insisted. "I'm not gonna let anyone here down." He wanted to take back the words at the sympathy that rose in Kevin's blue eyes as he handed him the Visine.

"No one thinks that." He swiped at the side of Reggie's hair with a dampened Kleenex, and with revulsion Reggie remembered he'd gotten some sick in it. Ick. 

"I've got gum," Bingo encouraged, holding out a stick of Wrigley's.

"I've got mouthwash," Kevin said, one-upping. "I like to be prepared." He reached into his backpack and retrieved a travel-sized bottle of Scope.

"You've got a pharmacy in there," Fangs marveled.

"Part of what makes me fabulous," Kevin shrugged. Fangs quirked one brow but said nothing. "Sink," he ordered, strong-arming Reggie from his seat. Reggie didn't notice how weak in the knees he was until they buckled. "Take it easy..."

"Okay. I'm okay." He swatted his hands away and took the Scope from him and dutifully swished his mouth thoroughly, killing as much of the funk in his mouth as he could. He spat, rinsed, then repeated all over again.

He had a kissing scene. He wouldn't shame himself again. Reggie began to sweat again.

"This is it," Miss Grundy announced after calling the cast into a huddle. She noticed a difference in all them as a whole; students who had little interaction with each other throughout the school year were leaning on each other companionably, holding hands or linking arms like best friends or siblings would. It had been a daunting three months, but she was satisfied. "First of all, I'm so proud of you all. This is your big night. I want you to go out there and slay that audience with how fantastic you've made this play."

"Thanks, Miss Grundy," Betty replied. "I don't know about anyone else, but I'm nervous," she admitted. Several chuckles and murmurs of agreement filled the backstage area. 

"Knock 'em dead, Cooper," Miss Grundy challenged her. She hugged her favorite student and was surprised when several of her cast approached her with the same gesture, even Reggie. "You okay?" she inquired as he gave her the warm yet awkward sort of hug that characterized teenaged boys. He nodded against her shoulder and pulled away, and his usual leer found its way back onto his face. She clapped him on the shoulder. "You look like Danny."

"I feel like Danny," he agreed smugly. Miss Grundy chuckled and nodded.

"For the next two hours, you are."

"All right. I'll strike up the intro," Mr. Flutesnoot informed them crisply. "It's time!" He headed down the stairs, offstage, and entered the orchestra pit. Jughead sat casually, chafing at the itchy necktie that his mother insisted he wear with his white dress shirt, part of his orchestra attire. He twirled his drumsticks idly until Flutesnoot gestured for everyone to find the correct page of their sheet music. The orchestra members snapped to attention and found their places, preparing for their warm-up notes.

The low, even "C" that sounded from the woodwinds signaled to the audience that the play was about to begin.

"This is it," Veronica gloated. "I can't wait to get out there!" She did a few practice shimmies as they made their way toward the stage. On the way, Chuck inadvertently knocked an open bottle of Crystal water that Fangs left with a partly unscrewed cap off the dressing table as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. It spilled across the floor, and Veronica strode through the puddle. She lost her footing, and her spindly heel skidded across the hardwood floor. Her whole body felt the jolt of misstep, and her last thought was a defiant screech that this wasn't happening, nothing could ruin her moment now...

Her sprawl was ungainly, and she landed hard, twisting her ankle on the way down.

"OH! OW! Ow, ow, ow!" Her hiss of pain through her teeth sent Miss Grundy running, and Betty's eyes grew wide with horror.

"RONNIE! Oh, no! What did you do? Are you okay?"

"No," Veronica whimpered, voice hitching. "It hurts... ow."

"Come over here and help me," Miss Grundy snapped to Kevin and Chuck, who were staring with the initial shock of seeing her fall. They hurried over and shouldered themselves beneath her, hoisting her gingerly from the floor. She half-limped, half-hobbled toward a stool, but pain lanced through her ankle with every mince. "Can you walk?"

"Can you dance?" Ethel countered, posing the question that she considered more vital.

"I just need a minute. Let me have a minute," Veronica snapped, but her voice was wobbly and her eyes sparked dangerously with tears. She vowed to herself that she wouldn't ruin her makeup.

"I'll get some ice," Fangs offered guiltily. He felt horrible and didn't want to face his teacher's wrath over his carelessness. As he disappeared, Brigitte raised her hand hesitantly.

"Miss Grundy? Want me to tell Mr. Flutesnoot that we need a minute?"

"More than a minute," Miss Grundy corrected her. "We have a crisis." Brigitte nodded, nonplussed at having to exit the backstage area, since she wasn't wearing a costume, and it wouldn't ruin the effect of seeing the cast members before the curtains rose. "I can't send you out there unless I know you're okay, Veronica."

"I'll be okay," she swore. "I just twisted it a little."

"You fell very badly, sweetie." She gingerly touched her ankle, probing the tendon. Veronica hissed through her teeth. "That's tender. And it's swelling. You might have a sprain."

"It's not broken!"

"A sprain's just as bad. We'll need to ice it. Worst case scenario, though, you might have to sit this one out."

"No. Oh, no. Nononononooooooooo." Veronica shook her head adamantly. "That's not gonna happen. I'm Rizzo. This play can't happen without Rizzo."

"That's not what I'm trying to say! But Veronica, you injured yourself. It's a liability if we let you go out there and dance with a sprain, if it turns out to be one." Coach Kleats showed up moments later with a first aid kit that he retrieved from the field office. He nodded when he got a gander at her ankle.

"That looks puffy. Bet it's sprained. Almost looks like long jumper's ankle or like you messed it up in a soccer game."

"So?" Veronica snarled impatiently. "I wasn't playing sports! It's not that bad!"

"Can you walk on it?" he challenged.

"Sure I can!" She rose awkwardly from the stool, defiance squaring her shoulders as she took a first, uncertain step. "Ooh. Shit. OW." She sat back down quickly, accepting Miss Grundy's hand to help her balance herself. "Sorry for the potty mouth... don't tell my dad."

"I'll let that one go," she reassured her, shaking her head. "Well, dear, this is a fine mess. I think you have to sit this one out."

"NO!" she cried, stomping her good foot. She winced and let out a sound akin to a whine. By the time Coach Kleats returned with an ice pack, she was in tears. Archie sat beside her, arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Betty felt guilty for the frisson of jealousy that snuck up on her as she watched her bestie cozying up to her crush.

"Do you want to tell the audience it's a no-go, or should I?" Miss Grundy bit her lip, watching Mr. Flutesnoot hopefully. He shook his head. He turned to Brigitte, who was tidying up the vanities and straightening up the mess left by the makeup.

"Brigitte? Suit up."

"Huh?" Her mouth dropped open, making her resemble a guppy.

"You're going on?"

"WHAT?" Veronica demanded angrily, shock written across her puffy features.

"We need Rizzo. You know all the music. You know your lines."

"I don't know the dance moves!" she protested.

"You know then well enough. Just follow along as best as you can," Miss Grundy shrugged. "You can do it. Don't you want to go out on stage and show everyone you're a star?"

"But... I'm not a star. I'm Jan," she pointed out in confusion.

"But you could be Rizzo. The It Girl. The boss. The flirt. How does that sound?"

"C'mon, Brigitte," Betty encouraged, grinning. "Come out onstage with me. It'll be awesome."

"I never thought this would happen." She turned to Veronica. "Is it okay with you?"

"No!" she snapped. "I don't care. Just go. Leave me alone."

"Okay, then," Flutesnoot piped up. "Ronnie, give Brigitte the wig." Veronica worked it off her head and miserably handed it over. Miss Grundy took it from him, grabbed Brigitte and steered her toward the mirror by the stage door. "We'll have to improvise with the costume. I have a black skirt you can wear that should fit. We also have a pink lady jacket that might work out," she suggested.

"There aren't any in my size," Brigitte complained as Miss Grundy began to work the wig onto her head, tucking in her ginger brown hair.

"Then you can wear it wrapped around your shoulders. It'll work out fine. Girls wore their boyfriend's sweaters that way all the time, back in the day. I should know." Brigitte squirmed as her English teacher and play director shouted "I need makeup! Betty, run get me the kit! Hurry! And the black skirt in the back of the wardrobe closet."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Brigitte murmured.

"Gum?" Bingo suggested helpfully.

*

Minutes later, the auditorium was buzzing with mass confusion, wondering when the play would start. Mr. Flutesnoot steeled himself, then walked calmly onto the stage. He tapped the microphone. "Can you hear me?" A few people nodded in reply. "All right! Welcome and thank you for coming to our presentation of Grease tonight. We're thankful for your support, and I know you'll enjoy the show. We have some amazing young talent, and the kids have been working their tails off for the past couple of months. Now you can watch all that rehearsing of lines and songs they've no doubt been driving you crazy with at home pay off!" A few amused titters greeted him, and he felt relieved that it was almost time for him to get off the stage. "I'd like to make one more last-minute announcement. We had a cast change tonight due to a slight mishap." He nodded toward Hiram Lodge, who sat in the front row with his arms crossed, looking resigned. The middle-aged millionaire nodded in acknowledgment, and Flutesnoot didn't envy the man the task of consoling his daughter at night's end. "The role of Rizzo will now be performed by our equally talented understudy, Brigitte Reilly! Now, please turn off your cell phones and enjoy the show. Thank you." With that, Elmer Flutesnoot left the stage in search of some Tylenol.

He returned to the orchestra pit and tapped the music easel with his small baton. "Give me a C, time to warm up," he muttered to his musicians. Jughead tugged uncomfortably at his necktie and began a low, steady drum roll. "One, two..." The low, combined whole note rang out from the pit for eight beats; their conductor brought his closed fists down in the gesture to stop, which they did in unison. He hoped the rest of the night went as smoothly.

Miss Haggly took her place at the piano, flexing her arthritic fingers to warm them up. She lifted the lid to the keys and nimbly picked out the notes to the opening bars of "Summer Lovin'," providing a low background to the dialogue and signaling the Greasers and Pink Ladies to enter the scene. Betty and Brigitte's hands were both clammy; Reggie's stomach was tied up in knots, and Ethel felt faint. This was it. Now, or never.

The cast gradually bustled into the background; as the lights came up, the stage was transformed into a school courtyard with lettering that read "Welcome Back, Rydell High class of 1959!" Suddenly, a demure-looking blonde ran toward the center of the stage, laughing breathlessly. A tall, handsome boy with dark hair chased her, darting back and forth to cut off her escape. He tried to kiss her, but she fended him off, wriggling loose. He tried again, devilish smile intact.

"I'm going back to Australia." Her voice was pleading. He tried to shrug it off, chucking her under the chin.

"Don't talk that way, Sandy." 

"I've just had the best summer. And now I have to leave! It isn't fair!" Danny took that as a signal. He leaned forward to nuzzle Sandy's ear, and the look she gave him entreated him. "Danny, don't spoil it!" 

"It's not spoiling it. It's making it better." She swatted at his hands, which drifted from her waist to her hips. Her expression was a tolerant scold, but his smile undid her resolve. He kissed her cheek, leaning his forehead against hers. The cast behind them ignored them, obscured by the dim back lighting as the opening scene reached its end. 

"Danny, is this the end?"

"Of course not. It's only the beginning."

The lights came up backstage, and they separated. Sandy's attention was caught by her new friend, Frenchie, while Danny Zuko sauntered over to meet his boys by the bleachers.

"How you doin', huh?!" 

"HEY, DANNY! HEY, COME ON!" 

"Hey, how you doin'? Good to see you." Reggie gave Frankie's "Kenickie" a one-armed man hug that ended in a mock-tug of war. 

"You seen any new broads over there?" 

"Nah. Just the same old chicks." 

"So, what did you do all summer, Danny? "

"I was hanging around at the beach." Knowing looks and hoots greeted this news, and Danny smirked.

"With chicks hanging around YOU! "

"The only thing that hangs around Sonny are flies!" 

"HOW WAS THE ACTION AT THE BEACH?" his friends shouted.

"OOH! It was flipping." On cue, Reggie flipped up his jacket collar.

"OOH. Crazy, YEAH! "

"I did meet this one cool chick."

"You mean she puts out?"

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"FREAKIN' A!"

From the other side of the stage, the Pink Ladies gradually converge on the courtyard, dragging their feet about going inside the school.

"Do I look okay, Frenchie?" Big Ethel nodded, mentally hoping her sandy blonde wig wouldn't fall off. 

"Sure, Sandy!"

"I'm really nervous." 

"Aw, you look terrific." 

"So this is Rydell?"

"Yep, you'll love it." 

"I loved my last school." Betty, as Sandy, wore a mournful expression, evoking an image of an abandoned kitten. "I wish I was there. I'm no stranger to heartbreak."

"WHY? You got psoriasis?" The audience chortled at Frenchie's effort, enjoying the malapropism. Ethel's timing and gestures were spot-on. 

"Oh, God."

"Well, here we are again." 

Rizzo took off her sunglasses, sliding them to the end of her nose and giving the courtyard a jaundiced look. In the background, extras pointed and whispered among themselves at the sight of the flamboyant girls in pink satin jackets and high-heeled shoes. She and Marty elbowed each other. Miss Grundy decided Cheryl could forgo the wig, since her long red hair was eye-catching enough under the stage lights. She blew it out and teased it high, easily fitting the profile of Marty's character.

"This time we're seniors! We're going to rule the school!" 

"Jan, that's so adolescent." 

"We are adolescent." 

"We don't have to flaunt it." Marty rolled her eyes at Jan's understudy, the new girl who transferred in from Midvale High. Melody Thomas wore her platinum blonde hair tucked up into a drab brown wig that was combed into girlish pigtails with pink satin ribbons. Miss Grundy fashioned a padded undersuit that would make the normally lithe girl look pleasingly plump. No one would recognize her from how she looked day to day. Melody was a bubbly girl, but not the sharpest knife in the rack. The role of Jan fit her perfectly, and surprisingly, she was a quick study. 

"Okay, girls. Let's go get 'em." Rizzo replaced her sunglasses and switched confidently toward the front door. Brigitte's stomach was full of butterflies, but so far, the audience seemed to believe in her. She hoped her voice didn't give out when it was time to sing.

Betty felt her stomach lurch all the way up into her throat. The musical number went off smoothly enough, even though she struggled with the high notes. She almost wished that she'd picked the role of Marty or Jan instead, but it just wasn't her. Betty was made of sugar, not spice. Sandy seemed like the right way to go.

Reggie found it hard not to steal looks at Betty. She was damned cute, wholesome and fresh-faced, which wasn't a stretch, but he liked how well she made the old school style work. He believed she was Sandy. He had a part to play, and they'd rehearsed it so frequently, he could recite both parts in his sleep. Of course, it didn't help that he dreamed about her every night. The kiss dogged him, begging him to repeat it.

They reached their marks on stage and collided, then each froze as they realized their hearts' desire was standing right in front of them. "Danny?"

"Sandy?" Betty was amazed again at how Reggie could look overjoyed for that brief moment, reaching for her, and equally surprised at how fast he could turn it off. Her emotions spun in response, and she wished Reggie would look at her that way in real life, thrilled and relieved to see her again, like he got what he wanted for his birthday.

He snapped into "Danny" mode, immediately aloof and cool. Their introductory scene was upon her, and Betty steeled herself.

"Betty cleared her throat and mulled over the lines for a moment before throwing herself into the scene. “Danny?” Reggie changed before her eyes, getting into character quickly. He pretended to straighten his collar, and his expression became smug and detached.

“That's my name, don't wear it out.” And there he was, posturing and strutting for his boys behind him. Low "Ooooohs!" of derision rose up from behind Danny as they eyed Sandy up and down and found her wanting. 

 

“What's the matter with you?” Sandy was distraught and confused. Reggie flinched at "Danny's" betrayal of what they once had.

 

“What's the matter with me, baby, what's the matter with you?” 

 

“What happened to the Danny Zuko I met at the beach?” 

 

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe there's two of us. Why don't you take out a missing person's ad? Or try the yellow pages, I don't know.”

 

“You're a fake and a phony and I wish I never laid eyes on you!” The words came out in a rush, and Betty was exhilarated that they made it through, and for a moment, just for a moment, she saw that she had taken Reggie off-guard. There was a hint of regret in his dark eyes as he went with it, played his role, feeling that guilt over letting her down. Betty ran from the stage, heart pounding.

She was just about ready to faint.

*

A lot of hard work and attention to detail went into the slumber party set, emulating a girlish, cluttered bedroom littered with cosmetics, fluffy throw pillows and posters of fifties icons on the walls. The audience loved Melody's impression of the Ipana toothpaste beaver, and once again Ethel stole the show as Frenchie as she explained that Sandy couldn't handle the sight of blood, emulating her best friend throwing up.

Brigitte knew her next number could make or break her. She'd been rehearsing for it, and she knew every word, every note by heart, but what she needed was the attitude. Miss Haggly began plucking out the intro to "Sandra Dee" offstage as Brigitte rummaged through the cluttered vanity for a short, wavy, dishwater-blonde dress-up wig. Miss Grundy sent Miss Beazly to the discount store at the last minute during intermission to find a pair of shortie pajamas in Brigitte's size, something they never projected needing when Veronica was slated to play Rizzo. Again, Brigitte felt awkward onstage in sleepwear, hoping no one laughed at her the following Monday because she looked fat.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jughead down in the orchestra pit. He's looking at me! She wanted to scowl at the way that he stared at her, and she knew he was allowed; she was onstage, obviously. But... his expression wasn't derisive or snotty at all. He gave her a lazy smile and a brief thumbs-up. Brigitte's cheeks turned bright pink. Confidence rose into her chest, and she realized, I can do this.

She leapt up onto the bed, vamping and posing, and the first notes tumbled from her mouth, on-key and perfectly phrased. 

"Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee! 

Lousy with vir-gin-it-y!

Won't go to bed

Til I'm legally wed!

I can't! I'm Sandra Dee!"

The audience ate it up. From offstage, Betty watched and grinned at Brigitte's performance, still in her demure ruffled nightgown. She felt a presence at her elbow and smelled familiar cologne, and she shivered.

"She's great."

"She's really getting into it. She deserves this."

"So do you." Betty tingled at his low, gruff tone. "You worked hard enough for it."

"So did you," she murmured back. She met his gaze for a moment, then quickly looked away. Her heart skipped again when his hand brushed hers.

"Betty..."

"Shhhh!" Miss Grundy held her fingers to her lips. "Zip it!"

Down in the audience, Jason watched the show with his parents, wavering between boredom and amusement. He was grateful that Cheryl hadn't gotten any of the singing parts, but he was impatient to see more of Betty onstage. She looked cute as Sandy, but he was looking forward to her other costume changes, and more especially the end of the play when he could take her out.

His jealousy reared its head when Reggie strutted around in front of her and during the drive-in scene, making him wish he could punch out his lights. Mantle looked like he was enjoying himself too much when he tried to force her to make out with him. In the back of his mind, Jason wondered...

... was Betty sometimes that reluctant to kiss him?

She was more standoffish lately, not unhappy to see him, but just more distracted, not as eager to make dates with him, and she was quicker to leave when he randomly met her between classes. It was driving him nuts. Moreover, she saw Mantle every day at rehearsal, and that pushed his buttons.

The play would be over soon. Once the production wrapped, he decided, things would resume their normal footing. Jason would have Betty's attention all to himself, and he could dazzle her with no distractions.

He couldn't wait for the payoff. 

Ethel's palms felt sweaty during her entire song number with Kevin, even though she didn't have to sing or dance a note. Kevin was a hit, fantastic as the Teen Angel, handsome yet untouchable in his pristine white tuxedo. Her pink wig itched, but she couldn't risk scratching onstage. She made appropriate sighing gestures as he moved around stage serenading her. It felt awkward, and Ethel was self-conscious.

Kevin escorted down the short flight of stairs, down to the edge of the stage, and a spotlight bathed them both, practically blinding her. Kevin almost felt sorry for her; her rapid pulse made its way to the surface when he took her hand, and she looked about ready to faint.

Dilton watched her from the wings. She looked beautiful, and he felt wistful, having to watch her from the background. The problem was, he was too used to it by now. Dilton wanted to be with Ethel, but he had no idea how to go about letting her know. She was easy to be with, to her credit, but Dilton's palms sweated from the tension and his attempts to take to her without feeling... nerdy. It was awkward. But Ethel wasn't like the other girls. She never treated him like a little kid or a freak. Dilton sighed and checked the next set for the upcoming carnival scene. At least he could make himself useful. Sometimes, the people working in the background were just as important as the ones in the spotlight.

*

Veronica sulked backstage, hating Brigitte, Mr. Flutesnoot, and everyone else singing their hearts out in front of her audience. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying and her nose was red. She was still inconsolable, but Archie was doing his best to provide moral support.

"Soda?" he whispered to her.

"Is it diet?"

"No."

"Then, no." He sighed and took her hand. She pulled it away, folded her arms and limped off miserably. Her ankle still throbbed, but she couldn't sit still.

"You should put your feet up."

"Don't tell me what I should do."

"Fine. Sorry." He shook his head. He hated it when she was like this, not that Archie could blame her, but he felt helpless and unnecessary. "There's still the school performance on Friday," he murmured.

"Great. That's great. Brigitte already did this one, and this is the more important show. Everyone will remember her as Rizzo, not me."

"Ron, you'll still be great."

"It's not fair."

"Ronnie, you couldn't help falling down. You hurt your ankle. You could have hurt it even worse dancing out there." Tears welled up in her eyes again and Archie heard a warning sniffle. "Sit down. Put your foot up. You'll make it worse pacing around."

"I'm just so angry," she hissed, and Archie decided to brave her wrath. She didn't fight him when his arms slid around her waist and pulled her back against him, and her tears fell freely again when he whispered in her ear that it was going to be all right. 

"You're still a star," he murmured into her neck. "You're still special. You would have been fantastic out there."

"She's a better singer than me," Veronica whimpered.

"Singing isn't everything. You would have killed that part." 

"You mean it?"

"Yeah. I do." She turned and embraced him, giving in to the urge to trust him with her grief and frustration. His hands felt good, stroking her back and soft hair.

Reggie glanced back at the pair and felt an odd sense of detachment. It was odd. Two years ago, give or take, he would have burned with jealousy to be where Archie was now. Veronica always seemed like the perfect fit for him, certainly the "gold standard" of the girl he was supposed to want to be with. But lately, even though she was still hot, still a live wire, funny, bright and a flirt, he just didn't feel the same way he did before. It baffled him.

It wasn't just that she was beautiful. Archie wanted her. Reggie enjoyed the competition for her affections before, only until he realized that he shouldn't want someone that he had to compete for in the first place. He knew it built up Veronica's ego to have more than one person fight for her. It gave her a sense of power; certainly he'd been there himself, before.

Yet, wasn't that what was happening between him and Betty Cooper? Was it her attraction to Jason that was drawing him to her? Did he need to see someone else being interested in her to realize her appeal? The possibility left him in a dark mood.

No.

No way. He liked Betty because she was Betty, not because she belonged to someone else. That might have been a small factor that opened his eyes, but Reggie wasn't that kind of jackass. If Betty broke up with Jason, Reggie would still want Betty, and if anything, he'd pound down her door for her to give him a chance.

"I need you," Veronica whispered into Archie's neck. Pride filled his chest.

"I'm not going anywhere." 

They watched the rest of the play from the wings. Betty drifted to the edge of the entryway, back in her schoolgirl outfit and cardigan for the scene between the T-Birds and the rival gang. Betty hovered near Reggie, who was murmuring his lines to himself and getting into character. Archie watched Betty gently touch his arm, and for a moment, she held his hand as if to reassure him. Reggie reluctantly let her go as he headed out onstage for the next scene.

A flicker of jealousy burned in Archie's gut. It was instinctive.

*

Reggie made it through the Thunder Road race sequence without breaking a sweat, even though it felt funny to pretend to race a car prop they'd made from a junker in shop class. Moose, Jughead, Fangs and Bingo worked for weeks on it, welding and detailing it, even though it was only the front half of an old Chevy the school bought from the pick-and-pull lot. But it worked, and all of the boys received extra credit toward passing their elective.

Betty was all butterflies again as the "race" came to a close. Her big finish was growing closer, and she was afraid to make a fool of herself. She knew all she had to do was go out and have fun with it, be someone who she normally wasn't, but it still scared her.

Would Reggie be satisfied with her performance? What would he think of her? Would he think she could keep up with him on the big song and dance number? Moreover, how would be react to the costume? At dress rehearsal, she'd only danced in the high heels, wisely leaving the costume in the wardrobe for the time being, but her stomach was in knots.

Ethel nudged her, all smiles as the Greasers whooped and hollered at Danny's victory. Reggie spared her a quick glance of longing, but went along with his friends offstage. 

"Danny won! Isn't that great?" 

"Yeah."

"What's the matter? Aren't you happy?" 

"Not really, Frenchy, but I could be. Can you help me?"

"Of course."

"Let's go to your place." 

"Sure. Come on." They made their way backstage, and Betty knew her moment truth loomed ahead of her.

Now or never.

*

Jason watched from the audience, curiosity piqued. He wished he could take a picture with his phone, but it wasn't allowed.

That Mantle was such a ham. He did a decent job, but Jason would never give him that much credit. He loved any opportunity he could get to be the center of attention and hog all the credit.

But most of all, Jason couldn't stand him, because Betty appeared to like him, as much as, if not more than she did Archie Andrews, and that made Reggie a threat.

*

Reggie strutted onto the midway field as carnival music was piped into the auditorium. He straightened his Rydell sweater as his Greaser buddies accosted him. 

"Well, well, well!" 

"What is this, Halloween?" 

"Where did you swipe this letterman's sweater?" 

"While you were out stealing hubcaps, I lettered in track." 

"I can't believe it! Danny Zucco turned jock?" 

"That's right." Reggie looked smug and pleased with himself. 

"What are you doing, deserting us?" 

"You can't follow a leader all your lives. You know you mean a lot to me, but Sandy does, too. I'm going to anything I can to get her, that's all." 

Miss Haggly played the intro to "You're the One That I Want" with a slow, ad-libbed flourish while the Pink Ladies made their way onstage again, and a loud wolf whistle broke through the crowd, drawing everyone's attention left-stage.

"SANDY?" Reggie's mouth dropped open.

"Tell me about it, stud." It was Betty.

It was his wet dream come true.

She'd teased her hair during the third act's intermission and changed into the final costume, snug, black and leaving little to his imagination. Betty wore the black Lycra spandex pants and black platform heels. Miss Grundy limited her to a black tee instead of an off-the-shoulder top, and she wore a T-Bird leather jacket over it, the smallest one they had in the wardrobe. She carried an unlit, fake cigarette as a prop, pretending to take a drag off it with glossy red lips. Betty shifted her weight to one hip and vamped. The piano number reached the opening bars of the song, and Reggie threw himself into it full throttle.

"I've got chills,

They're multiplyin'!

And I'm losin' control!

From the power

You're supplyin',

It's ELECTRIFYIN'!"

Betty stomped out her fake cigarette, emulating Marty and Rizzo's gesture off-side and she tossed them the jacket before she picked up her part. She prayed her voice didn't crack. She wanted to die...

"You better shape up,

Cause I need a man!

And my heart is set on you.

You better shape up,

You better understand,

To my heart, I must be true!"

Jason watched in awe. That wasn't his girlfriend. That... was a sex goddess. He'd never be able to talk to her again without picturing her in the full makeup, in those tight, hot little pants, shaking those hips. 

He definitely wished he could take a picture with his phone or capture it on video. Yet...

... she was dancing for Reggie. Teasing him. Flirting with him. Leading him on the way she moved, practically shaking her tail under his nose. Reggie was close enough to her to smell her perfume...

Jealousy gripped him. Then, it consumed him when Danny finally caught up to Sandy, pulled her close, and gave her a tantalizing kiss.

*

For three breathless seconds, Betty didn't hear the song. Her heart pounded and her cheeks felt hot. She felt nothing else but Reggie's hands locked at her waist and his smooth, firm lips. Her legs turned to jelly.

"Oh, look, the gang's together!" Frenchy's shrill cry snapped her back to attention, and the moment was gone. Betty almost forgot all of her dialogue; she was completely shaken. But she had one more song to finish.

Then, she could make her way offstage, fully realize what had happened, and faint.

It was written into the script. It was tasteful. It was brief. But it was still a kiss. It was still Reggie, beneath the slicked back hair and tight black tee. It still made the world stop.

Betty was more confused than ever. He was under her skin.

*

The play was a wrap. They went out and linked hands, taking their bows. Reggie and Betty were first, meeting mid-stage. They received a standing ovation, but it grew thunderous as Ethel took her turn, still dressed in Frenchy's pineapple wig, and it swelled even more loudly for Brigitte and Kevin.

Reggie felt Betty's pulse in her grip. She spared him a look, and she had questions in her blue eyes. He didn't want to let her go. Her hand slipped from his grip, and they headed offstage for the last time.

Betty hurried from the back corridor toward the dressing room, bypassing Veronica and Archie. She needed a moment.

"Betty, you were great!" Archie called after her.

"Where are you going?" Ron demanded. "What's up with that?"

Reggie watched her flight and ignored his friends' calls to join them for cast pictures out front. "Bets," he muttered. "Shoot..." He ran after her, needing to talk to her, and worried that she might be upset.

Betty hurried to the sink and splashed her face with cold water, heedless of her makeup. She drew in long, deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate. She'd kissed Reggie. In front of everybody, she kissed him.

Jason watched her kiss him. He'd be furious. Betty felt slightly sick, yet exhilarated. Reggie felt so right. They fit together so well. The kiss would haunt her all night long, and she knew she wouldn't sleep.

She heard a low knock on the door, and Betty quickly blotted her face with some paper towels. "Coming!" she cried, and she shuffled toward the door awkwardly in her heels, which were starting to pinch. 

Reggie peered inside through the crack of the doorway, his brown eyes concerned. "Bets? You all right?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"You ran off."

"I needed a minute."

"Can I come in?"

"This is the girl's dressing room."

"Just for a second."

"Okay." Her voice wavered and her hands shook as she opened the door to let him in. She stepped back, and he seemed to swallow up all the space between them as he kicked the door shut behind him. His hand flew out and snapped around her wrist. "We can't," she hissed, but he pulled her toward him, and his eyes were burning with need. "Reggie, I can't."

"Yes, you can." His arm looped itself around her waist, and he silenced her with a searching kiss. Betty was lost. She whimpered into his mouth and her arms crept up around his neck. He stole her sweetness and heat, taking his time as he'd wanted to do from that fleeting peck. He'd dreamed about it, yearning for her since she'd come into his home. Betty felt his fingers combing through her hair, stroking it back from her face. Her flesh was warm beneath the thin Lycra, and she could smell his cologne.

They sprang apart at the sound of the door clicking open, and Ethel stood gaping, staring at Reggie. "Um. You're not supposed to be back here."

"Leaving," he assured her, slinking past her. Betty's cheeks were bright red, and, Ethel noticed, her lip gloss looked like it had been kissed off, her blonde hair in complete disarray.

"What did I miss?"


	13. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choices have to be made. Bad behavior tips the scales.

Author’s Note: I’m SO sorry this has been sitting on my hard drive untouched for so long. Blame it on a new job that I hate, stress, indigestion, sewing commissions, laundry, and my kids that make my hair turn gray, not to mention an unhousebroken pup that manages to piddle on something if my back is turned for too long.

I usually like Jason Blossom as a character. Out of necessity for my plot… sorry, guys, spoiler… I’m going to make you like him a lot less, here. This is Beggie, I’m allowed.

 

Betty was so deep in thought while she dug through her locker and checked her text messages that she didn’t see the tall, dark figure looming over the edge of the metal door. A finger poked her insistently, and she jumped a mile.

“Geez! Jay! Don’t DO that!”

“Someone’s jumpy,” he commented, shrugging. A hint of a smile played with the corner of his mouth, but his green eyes were hard to read. Betty reached for his hand and squeezed it, but he tugged it loose and tucked it into his pocket.

“Okay. What’s up? What’re you doing right now, Jason?”

“Just checking on you. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Okay. Hi.” She closed the door and moved toward him, tilting her face up for a kiss, but he backed off. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.”

“No kiss?”

“Pushy,” he remarked. Betty stared at him like he’d passed gas.

“No I’m not. That’s baloney. What’s on your mind?”

“Not much.”

“Something must be,” she fished. Betty felt slightly uneasy, and she closed her locker and tucked her math book under her arm. Jay pushed himself away from the adjacent door he’d been leaning on and followed her when she began to talk past him. “You said you were going to call me last night.”

“Guess I was busy.”

“Okay. That’s fine. I was just wondering when I’d hear from you.”

“Were you?”

“What?”

“Were you wondering when you’d hear from me?” His voice was mildly defensive, almost flustered, and Betty stopped and looked him in the eye. His smile was gone, and his posture was stiff.

“Yes. I was. I was home as soon as I got off yesterday. It wasn’t like I had practice for anything. I almost went to the library, but I was expecting to hear from you, Jay.” 

“Hm. Okay.” He shrugged and nodded, and his manner was bland, but she had the eerie feeling he wasn’t satisfied with her reply. “You were home all night?”

“It was a school night!”

“Right, right.”

“Where were you?”

“Out for a little bit with Cedric, but I got home in time for dinner.” The sixth period bell sounded in the hall, and Betty began to hurry down the hall. She looked up at Jason in surprise when he caught her wrist.

“We’re not done talking.”

“That bell says we are. Don’t, Jason. Look, I don’t know why you’re mad at me-“

“Yes, you do.”

Yeahbuhwhat? Betty scowled at him outright. “Okay. Assuming I know why you’re mad at me, it’s still not worth making us both late. If you’d called me last night, we could have talked about it.”

“I don’t know if you would have given me the time. Lately you’re in high demand.”

“By who?” she challenged.

“I dunno. Seems like you give Reg a lot of your time, lately.”

“Says who? You mean when I would practice with him? And Jay, that was like, twice. I wasn’t even with Reggie yesterday.”

“Yesterday,” he said pointedly.

What the fuck? Betty was the one who shook off his grip, this time. “Enough,” she snapped.

“Enough?” he huffed, laughing at her. “Enough of what? I just want to talk about this, Betty.”

“No. You’re mad at me, and you’re accusing me of blowing you off for someone else.” His eyes iced over and his chin tilted itself at a stubborn angle.

“No. That sounds like you just said you were blowing me off. That wasn’t how I worded it.” Betty stiffened. This was coming from out of the blue, and she had no idea what to say to appease him. The feeling of being accused of… well, she really didn’t know what he was accusing her of, at this point… was completely foreign to her. Betty didn’t jerk anyone around, so why was he acting like she’d done that to him?

“I’m not digging this talk right now, Jason. Look, I have to get to class, you have to get to the class, and I don’t want to stand here guessing what I really did to make you pissed off at me. This isn’t constructive,” she told him, borrowing one of her mother’s favorite terms.

“Unconstructive? You running around on me and me calling you out on it is unconstructive?”

There it was. His calm façade gave way to the earliest flickers of real anger. Betty backed away from him, shaking her head.

“If you think I’ve been running around on you, Jason, then we can’t talk about this. You’ve already made up your mind.”

“Made up me… why the hell won’t you tell me anything to change my mind? You’re not giving me any reason not to doubt you right now!” Mr. Weatherbee breezed by and pointed at Jason with a warning look in his eye.

“Language, young man. And you’re late for the next period. Run along, Betty.”

“Yes, sir. On my way,” she assured him, and to her annoyance, Jason followed her to her door, and Betty thought to escape by entering the classroom, but Jason ducked briefly into the classroom, halfway inside the door. He watched for Mr. Weatherbee to round the corner, and Mr. Flutesnoot was occupied, writing equations on the chalkboard while the class chattered and took out their notebooks. 

“Betty,” Jason growled under his breath. She turned on him and sighed in exasperation. She made a shooing motion with her hand.

“We’re done, here. You’re not happy with me, Jason, and I’m sorry, but we’re not going to do this here.” Her voice was an angry whisper, and her blue eyes flashed, piercing the green depths of his. His pupils dilated and she heard his deep exhale. He shrugged and glanced at Flutesnoot’s back for a moment, then gripped her shoulder – more gently, this time – and kissed her forehead. Her brows drew together, and his face softened for a moment.

“I’ll text you.” And like that, he was off. Betty was scowling all the way to her chair. Another pair of green eyes raked over her as she set down her books, and she felt a pencil bounce off her back. Betty turned and returned Cheryl’s glare.

“What were you and my brother just talking about?”

“Ask him. It’s none of your business, anyway, Cher. It’s between me and him.”

“My brother is my business, especially if you’re playing around with him, you trashy, townie freak.” Betty gave her a “come at me” neck jerk and huffed, rolling her eyes. “You think he’s not?”

“You cow,” Betty hissed. “It’s not like you’re protecting him, you just want to stir the pot and start trouble.”

“Won’t be any trouble if you stop playing around,” Cheryl hissed back. Her beauty was blunted by her glare and narrowed eyes, making the bridge of her nose crinkle.

“What the hell…? What’s with the two of you? I’m not ‘playing around.’ Take your meds.” Betty picked up the pencil Cheryl had thrown at her and put it in her purse, deciding to rob her of ammunition. Cheryl tsked in disgust.

“Trashy townie and a thief,” she emphasized. “It’s bad enough you’re dating my brother, but messing around with Reggie Mantle just… I don’t know. You’re a freak, and you have no taste. None.”

“Look who’s talking, Cher. You hate townies, but you’re all over Archie like bad cologne. That’s not conflictive, or anything.”

“Girls. Pay attention,” Mr. Flutesnoot warned them, craning his neck around from the blackboard, chalk hovering in mid-air. He turned back to the board once they both averted their eyes from him and pretended to stare at their notes. “All right. I have the cube root of negative three, times the cube of negative five…” He continued his rhythmic scribbling, lulling the class into a near coma with the faint squeak of the chalk and droning voice. Betty took half-hearted notes; she knew the material, but she wasn’t interested in it. She felt Cheryl’s eyes boring into the back of her head, and Betty thought she heard her hiss her name, but she ignored her, eventually growling “Shut UP!” under her breath.

The class dragged to its end, and Betty was glad she just had PE left to go, and thankfully neither Blossom sibling was in her class. She saw Jason in the hall and hurried past him, ignoring him, but he didn’t follow her this time. Cheryl was a different story. She practically galloped after her as fast as her Christian Loboutin’s would allow. “Cooper! Wait, Betty! You heard me!” Betty tsked in disgust.

“What’s your dysfunction? Leave me alone, already, Cheryl. I’m not in the mood.”

“I don’t care what kind of mood you’re in. I wanna know if you’re fooling around on Jason.”

“I already told him, and I’m telling you – although why, I don’t know – that I’m not fooling around on Jason. And news flash, Cheryl; if I didn’t like your brother anymore, I wouldn’t just start seeing someone on the side. That’s not me. I’d just tell him things aren’t working out.”

“Like you’d ever tell Jay that, anyway,” Cheryl snorted, pulling a face. “Please. You’re not good enough for him.”

“And that’s why he asked me out. God, poor guy must have been drugged or blind, who knew? I brainwashed him. I bamboozled him,” Betty realized aloud, throwing her arms out wide. “You found me out, Cheryl. I coerced your brother at gunpoint to ask me out.”  
“Bamboozled… who even says that? Nice word, Grandma,” Cheryl told her, unimpressed, but Betty was satisfied that the redhead was trying not to laugh.

“Whatever. I don’t care how I sound, Cheryl. But listen to me, right now. I’m not seeing anyone else. If Jason feels that way, then that means he doesn’t trust me. If he doesn’t trust me, then you won’t have to worry about me even dating your brother.”

“I’m telling him you said that, you piece of trash.”

“Get bent.” Betty turned away from her, finished with the discussion. She headed to the girls’ locker room, putting up a “talk to the hand” sign when Cheryl called after her. Cheryl’s friend Lacey came up at the tail end of their argument and poked her.

“What was that all about?”

“I hate her. I fucking hate that girl.”

“Why? She’s usually pretty nice.”

“Lacey… ugh. You have no clue. Don’t even talk to me.”

 

*

Betty sweated out some of her aggression in aerobics class, almost wishing it were longer, but by the time she was finished, her tee was soaked in dark triangles, and she felt more relaxed. She made quick work of her shower and hurried back to her homeroom for the final announcements. Miss Grundy nodded at her as she took her seat and went through her notebooks.

“Kids, I just want to remind you of the yearbook orders. Money is due at the end of next week. Spring lacrosse signups start on Tuesday, so don’t forget the interscholastic permission slip. If you’re already eighteen, you can sign it yourself.”

“Yeah, baby!” Moose hooted smugly, evoking chuckles. Miss Grundy swatted his feet where they rested on top of his desk with the stack of papers she had in her hand.

“Off! Respect the furniture.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t, if the gleam in his eye was any indication.

“Hey.” Betty looked to her left, where Jughead indolently unwrapped a piece of gum for himself; it was too late in the day for anyone to give him detention for it. “What’s up? You look pissed.”

“I’m just tired,” she offered.

“You don’t look tired. You look pissed.”

“I’m tired of people being stupid, then.”

“That, I believe. Gum?”

“Nah. I’m fine. You going to Pop’s?”

“Yup. Meet you there?”

“Yup. But I might have to put on a disguise.”

“Come again?” Jughead looked confused.

“Someone might think you’re my boyfriend.”

“Then they’d think wrong. Why? You’re going out with Blossom, I thought.”

“I thought so, too. He called me out today and said I’m cheating on him, which is news to me.” Jughead shook his head.

“Wow. And you’ve been seeing this guy HOW long? He doesn’t know you very well, does he?”

“Uh, no. Apparently not,” she said sourly.

“You had a crush on Archie for eight years straight. EIGHT YEARS. That’s devotion.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“Yeah, but I’m just saying… when you like someone, Betty, you don’t just turn it on and off. You stick like glue.”

“Again, Juggie, not helping right now.” Betty was slightly embarrassed. Her eyes still followed Archie in and out of a room, but the crush had diluted itself a little once she was dating someone herself. That was to say nothing of Reggie, who was beginning to dominate her thoughts in a way that scared her. Petrified her.

“Yeah, yeah… sorry, Betty.”

“As if my day wasn’t fun enough already, then Cher got up in my grill.”

“She’s a friggin’ idiot. Why? What business does she have telling you anything?” Jughead felt nothing but disdain for the wealthy Pembroke girl, and it irked him that she’d stepped to Betty, of all people. Veronica, maybe; he could understand the pissing contest between those two, but Betty didn’t deserve the drama.

“She thinks her brother and everyone who he hangs out with is her business.”

“That’s a load of crap.”

“Exactly.”

“Not that I support you and Jason, either, mind you.” At that, Betty frowned at him and brandished her notebook, about to swat him.

“What’s up with that?”

“Sorry, Betty. Gotta be honest. I can’t stand that guy. I know you like him, but… no. Just, no. Uh-uh. You’re way out of his league, and he knows it. If he’s pointing the finger at you, telling you you’re the one messing around, it’s because he’s afraid you’re gonna dump him.”

“But that’s ridiculous. That makes no sense.”

“All things considered… Betty-“ Jughead was cut short by the final bell. The scrape of chairs and thud of feet drowned out what he’d been about to say. Betty filed out behind the crowd, but Jughead grabbed her elbow and looped his arm through her companionably. “Don’t run off yet, there, bud.”

“I’m only sticking around with you if you stop smack-talking my boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t smack-talking him. Not technically. I was being blunt. Friends can be blunt with each other.”

“Then be my friend and have a soda with me.”

“I am going to have a soda with you.”

“Good.”

“And while we’re drinking that soda, I’m going to school you on the ills of making bad choices. Blossom is a bad choice.”

“Eeerrrgggghhh…”

“You’re buying.”

*

They headed to the Chok’lit Shoppe and ordered root beer floats; Betty warned him she wasn’t springing for a burger, and Jughead hung his head in mock despair, but she didn’t buy it – literally. Betty checked her messages, but there was no call from Jay. She toyed with the discarded straw wrapper while Jughead dug into his float with a long-handled spoon.

“Finish that before I do.”

“Pig.”

“I mean it.” Betty took several long pulls off her straw, savoring the rich vanilla foam. “Are you supposed to be anywhere today?”

“I could be home. I don’t have any rehearsals. I don’t have any term papers, so I could just hang out at the library; I don’t have to cram. Or, I could call Ron and meet her at the mall, but I’m mostly broke until tomorrow.” Friday was cleaning day and allowance day in the Cooper household. Betty had a date with the weed wacker and laundry machine soon. “I thought if I didn’t have practice, Jay and I could hang out more, but he’s being weird.”

“It’s a control thing. He wants to bug you and take up your time when you don’t have time for him,” Jughead explained simply. “When you’re available, it’s too easy. He doesn’t have to work for it.”

“Why can’t he just appreciate that I’m making time for him now?”

“It’s a guy thing.”

“But you don’t do that.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s moot.”

“You could, if you’d pay Ethel some attention.”

“She’s not my type.”

“What is your type?” Betty asked pointedly. Jughead practically choked, barely horking soda through his nose.

“Geez… don’t do that!”

“Answer the question,” Betty pleaded innocently. “Everyone has a type.”

“It’s just not Ethel.”

“Why not Ethel?”

“She’s clingy. It’s creepy. Everywhere I go, she’s right by my elbow. At least she was until recently. I’m hoping she lost interest.”

“That’s a possibility. She’s been kinda… I dunno, chummy with Dilton lately.” Jughead’s brown eyes turned into saucers.

“No shit? Doiley? You’re frickin’ kidding me. He’s… short!”

“He’s cute,” she corrected him.

“But she’s a giant! They’re like Mutt and Jeff, or Tinkerbell and Peter Pan.”

“Don’t say that. Ethel likes him, from the look of it. They’re cute together.”

“If by cute you mean ‘freak show,’ then yes, they’re cute.” Betty gave him a shove.

“I’m happy for them. But quit changing the subject. When are you going to find somebody?”

“I’m picky. So sue me. Maybe I shouldn’t be, but c’mon, Betty. There’s some lame girls out there. Once in a while, I meet someone I think is kinda cute and cool, but then… it’s like the whole illusion evaporates as soon as they open their mouths.” Betty almost spit out her ice cream, and a drop of it dripped down chin as laughter exploded from her. 

“That’s awful, Juggie.”

“It’s the truth. I dunno, Betty. It’s just… I haven’t found anyone who really reaches me. Well…” he shrugged. Betty saw an opening.

“Well, what? Is there anybody?”

“Don’t make it into something it isn’t, and whatever you do, for the love of all things holy, do NOT tell anyone. Anyone,” he admonished, making her pinkie swear. She linked pinkies with him and nodded.

“Promise. Who?”

“She’s musical. She has some nice meat on her bones. She’s decent, funny, smart, and-“

“Brigitte. I nailed it on ‘musical,’ didn’t I?”

“Right in one,” he sighed. “I like her, okay?”

“That’s more than okay. Brigitte is cute. She’s nice. She won’t give you the runaround, and I think she might actually like you back.”

“For real.” He looked doubtful. Betty was satisfied that she’d read things right and continued.

“I shit you not.”

“I don’t want to ask her out if it ends up that I’m wrong about her.”

“Do what you did with me. Meet her here. Be random about it. It doesn’t have to be a ‘date,’ date.”

“That’s the problem, Betty. It defeats the purpose if it isn’t a ‘date’ date. I like her.” He sighed. “I ‘like her’ like her.”

“Who knew?” Betty teased. “Seriously, though. She’s great.”

“She has some nice meat on her bones. I like that. Now that I think about it, Betty, that’s the Ethel problem. She’s too darn skinny. And clingy.”

“You’re a real ladies’ man, buddy.”

*

Reggie came home in a foul mood. Lacrosse tryouts went fine, but he was distracted. In the halls, Betty had ignored him again, but to his satisfaction, he’d noticed her arguing with Jason by her locker as he came out of his French class; that mean little thought was the only bright spot in an otherwise frustrating week.

Ever since the play wrapped, she’d been avoiding him, and it was driving him nuts. Reggie was weakening, flirting back with other girls who were interested in him, but it was halfhearted, and he didn’t ask any of them for numbers. A hot redhead named Josie offered some possibilities; she was a transfer student from Midvale, and she played a mean lead guitar. She occasionally joked around with him and hinted that she wouldn’t mind jamming with him sometime, but he wouldn’t commit to a day or place.

It frustrated him. Jason had been a thorn in his side, too, suspending conversations with his friends to glare after Reggie when he walked by, minding his business. He had a gym class with him, and during a game of flag football, Jason tackled him, which grew into a shoving match. Both of them ended up in detention that day, and Reggie was about ready to dunk the smug junior’s head into a toilet. Jason’s green eyes were hard, and their message was clear: Stay away from my girl.

To Reggie, it was Greek, and moot. He wanted Betty, and Reggie knew without a doubt that she wanted him, too. Kisses didn’t lie, and he could see through her excuses what she didn’t want to admit. He couldn’t get her off of his mind, and she owned a part of him that she didn’t know how to give back. Reggie entered the house and greeted his mother with a kiss on the cheek while she was washing dishes. She looked pleased with the affection, but she prodded him.

“You never kiss me hello unless you’ve had a bad day,” Vicky Mantle pointed out. “I made cookies.”

“I see that.” Reggie helped himself to three of them, shoving one halfway into his mouth while he rummaged in the fridge for the milk.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. My life just sucks.”

“Ah. It was that kind of day.” She ruffled his dark hair fondly and kissed his temple. “Girl trouble?”

“Ma! That was random.”

“Not that random. It happens.”

“I just got into it with this idiot at school a few days ago. That was why I had detention.”

“I’d wondered about that. Why were you fighting?” Reggie wolfed down another cookie and washed it down before he replied, with a gee-shucks shrug.

“I dunno. Well… it’s hard to explain.”

“Explain it. And please don’t get yourself suspended, Reggie.”

“There’s this girl.”

“Betty?” Reggie blushed and ducked his head. “She’s sweet! What happened? Did you have a tiff of some kind?”

“She’s dating this guy, and he’s lame. I saw him giving her a hard time the other day, and I told her from the beginning that I don’t like her dating him.”

“Which is moot, since she isn’t your girlfriend, if memory serves me correct.”

“Well, she could be,” Reggie bragged. His chin took on a stubborn tilt, and Vicky laughed, shaking her head.

“Son, son, son…let me explain.”

“Ah, boy,” Reggie sighed, leaning back into his chair and covering his ears. She swatted him with the dish towel. 

“Pay attention. If she’s dating someone else, you have to back off. If she makes it clear that she likes you, then you step in, but not before. Otherwise, you’re just a third wheel, Reggie.”

“Tricycles have third wheels,” Reggie quipped.

“What girl wants to ride a tricycle?” Reggie made a face. “Don’t give her a hard time, Reggie. If she likes you, then she’ll come around.”

“I know she likes me, Mom. That’s just it. I look at her, and I see the way she acts when I talk to her. It’s all over her face, and she does this thing… I can’t explain it.”

“Do her eyes follow you in and out of a room?”

“Yeah!”

“Does she lean in close when you’re talking?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does she groom her hair before she talks to you?” Reggie grinned. “Does she ask you how your day’s going before you ask her?”

“You know it!”

“Fix that,” she corrected him. “Be a gentleman, but Reggie, remember this. Don’t play dirty pool. Don’t try to steal Betty away from that other boy. A good relationship is never built on hurting someone else.”

“Someone needs to steal her away,” he grumbled. “He’s a tool.”

“Don’t be a bigger tool. Back off, son.”

“Mom…!”

“Behave.”

*

Betty finished the dinner dishes and retreated to her room, leaving her cell phone on the bedside table. It was frustratingly silent. She lay back on her bed, hair dangling off the side and her feet crossed and propped against the wall, and they were shod in her favorite rainbow toe socks. She re-read her copy of Goblet of Fire and made her way halfway through it once her homework was done.

She dozed off with the book splayed open across her chest, and Betty woke up with a start when her cell blared “Sexy and I Know It” at her. She rolled over and reached for it, flipping onto her back as she hit “Take Call.”

“Hey, Ron.” She wasn’t disappointed. She hadn’t talked to her bestie in a while.

“Hey, Bets. Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Good. I was hoping I’d catch you.”

“It’s a school night. Not many other places I’d be.”

“I got back from the matinee. I went with Midge and Nancy to see ‘Hugo’ in 3D. You missed out.”

“Sounds like it,” Betty murmured enviously. “I was broke.”

“Have Jason take you.”

“Me being broke doesn’t mean making my boyfriend pay for everything.”

“It should. That’s how it works in the real world.”

“Even with Archie?”

“I’m never broke,” Veronica said matter-of-factly, but Betty knew it struck a nerve. “You need to learn how to work these things to your advantage. Here’s the formula. Be a pretty girl. Find a boy with money. Be pretty and tell him how to spend his money. Then make him wonder when you’ll call. Keep him guessing.”

“Not having that problem right now. Jason’s pissed at me.”

“Good… sorry.”

“No, you’re not! Jerk!” Betty toyed with a loose thread on her quilt.

“Okay. I’m not. Why’s he mad at you, anyway? What did you do?”

“He thinks I like Reggie.”

“But you do like Reggie.”

Yeahbuhwhat? “Huh?”

“You heard me. Betty, it’s there in plain sight.”

“Not in my sight! Ron, you must be high.”

“Am not. I wouldn’t shit you, Elizabeth Cooper, when I tell you that it’s all over your face when you’re around him. He hangs on your every word, too, and he’s always quick to sit down next to you, no matter where you are. He used to be like that with me.” Ronnie was right; he did. Betty was secretly, meanly pleased.

She sighed. “I don’t know, Ron. What do I do? I like Jay, but he’s mad. I told Reggie that I couldn’t go out with him if I’m already dating someone.”

“Reggie asked you out? Betty, what happened? Why didn’t you say yes? I mean, Reggie has his moments. He’s stuck on himself a lot of the time, but it’s at least an act. He’s actually decent when you get to know him.”

“I know he’s decent.”

“I know, but that’s the difference between him and Jay. Jason Blossom is a dog. He’s not what you think he is.”

“He treats me fine.” Except today, Betty wanted to add.

“He won’t in the long run.”

“You’ve said that before,” Betty argued. “What have you got against Jason?”

“I know him. He’s always sweet at first.”

“At first?”

“Never mind.”

“No. Veronica, don’t say ‘never mind.’” Betty rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up, put out now. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Jason’s from a different world than you. He’s used to getting his own way. His friends are like that, too. I don’t know where he got it from; his parents are actually pretty nice.” Percy and Priscilla occasionally consorted with Veronica’s parents and belonged to the same country club. “Just leave him alone. Tell him it’s not working out.”

“Veronica! What aren’t you telling me? You’re my best friend, and you’re hiding something from me. Not cool.”

“Betty…” Veronica was hedging on her end, struggling. Betty was getting upset, hating to be left in suspense.

“Did he say something? Did he do something?” Betty prodded. “Did he wear the wrong cologne?”

“Now that you mention it, yes,” Veronica quipped. Her voice tightened. “That’s not the only thing, Betty.”

“Ronnie… you’re my best friend, and I love you. But if you can’t come up with a good reason why I shouldn’t date Jay, then butt out.” A change came over Betty, a strange sense of what she could only call loyalty for Jason. There was something odd about Veronica insisting that she stop seeing Jason, and it bothered Betty, when her friend already had a solid hold on Archie, despite Betty’s past efforts. A tiny voice in the back of her mind nagged her, defending him.

It’s not up to her to decide. She has to either put up, or shut up. Why’s she dancing around it?

Veronica sat guiltily in her lush bedroom, biting her tongue and stroking her Siamese cat, Minari. She couldn’t tell her. There was no telling what Betty would think. “Betty…”

“I’m gonna go, Ron. I’m waiting on Jay to call.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad, but I don’t agree with what you’re telling me unless you want to back it up. Good night.” She hung up on Veronica’s indignant protest, but Betty felt guilty. Veronica was her bestie, and she owed her respect, but still…

Veronica couldn’t always have her own way. Betty often allowed her to influence where they went, what she wore, and some of the activities she participated in, but when it came to who she dated, why was that up to her, instead of Betty herself? “Control freak,” Betty muttered. Lodges were used to getting what they wanted, weren’t they? Betty decided to drown her sorrows in a hot bath. She gathered up her babydoll pajamas, bath foam and other goodies as she filled the tub, taking her book along with her. Betty piled her hair on top of her head, securing it with a scrunchie. Some wishful thinking on her part made her leave her cell on top of the toilet lid. Betty waited for the thick pile of bubbles to rise to mere centimeters below the edge of the tub before sinking into the water, letting out a sigh of pleasure. To heck with Jason, she decided; no sense in waiting with bated breath.

As though the universe was conspiring against her, as soon as she settled back and turned the first page, the phone buzzed. Betty growled. “It figures…” She set down the book and leaned out of the tub just far enough to barely scrap the edge of her phone with her fingertips, but she accidentally knocked it farther away. Betty stood and gingerly stepped out of the tub, shivering at the cool air against her damp skin; she settled back into the slowly evaporating suds and hit the answer screen flashing up at her, tsking at Jason’s caller ID. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. Where are you? What’s that splashing sound?”

“Bath water.”

“You’re taking a bath?” A pause. “You’re naked?”

“One would assume.” Betty rolled her eyes.

“And I’m not over there, why?”

“Because I don’t want my dad to get life for murder one.” Betty huffed. “Besides, you’re mad at me, remember?”

“Bets…” She listened to his heavy exhaled breath and pictured him combing his fingers through the hair at his nape. “Look… I was a jerk.”

“Go on.”

“Argue with me?”

“No. This isn’t the time to argue. Continue,” she told him dryly as she ran her finger through the bubbles, blowing a puff of foam off the tip like it was the barrel of a gun.

“Betty… c’mon. You can’t blame me for being mad. I hate seeing you hanging out with Mantle.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s just Reggie. Jason, I’ve known him my whole life. Plenty of girls chase him, so why would I? I kinda know better by now.” It was true, for the most part, except that Betty didn’t want to admit to Jason, or herself, that it was a big deal. Reggie had a strong effect on her, and she was drawn to him.

“That kiss on stage looked like a big deal.”

“The key words being ‘on stage.’ Please, Jay,” Betty whined. “Really? You’re jealous of that?”

“That was some acting, then. You looked like you were really into it.”

“I guess I should be flattered, except for the part where you think I’m cheating on you.” And she wasn’t, Betty told herself, if she continued to tell Reggie no. If.

“You can take it as flattery if you want.” She heard a hint of a smile in his voice. “You looked hot. Would have looked hotter without Mantle getting in the way; I could’ve seen more of your face. Dang, Betty… seriously. You looked hot.”

“Goofy,” she accused him, but a pleased little smile wouldn’t leave her face. This was the Jason she enjoyed talking to, rather than the cold, insecure one she saw at school. The suds were shrinking, leaving the tops of her breasts exposed and drafty. Her nipples were hard, pink little pebbles, tingling as much from the cool air as they did from the direction of their chat. A funny little shiver ran through her belly. “It was just the costume.”

“That wasn’t just the costume. You looked like you were enjoying yourself up there, shaking those little hips…” His voice was husky, teasing her.

“Are you home?” she inquired, hoping to heaven that no one was listening to him. “Better yet, are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone. Why? Want me to come over?”

“You can’t. It’s too late.”

“But do you want me to?” He wouldn’t let it go, and Betty sighed. “C’mon, Betty, tell me you want me there.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you. Would’ve been nice if you’d met me after school instead of attacking me, and then waiting til the last minute to call me.” That stopped his teasing effectively.

“You know why I was mad,” he accused.

“I just don’t appreciate why, and I don’t agree with it.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. His voice sounded sincere, but Betty wasn’t sure she was buying it. “I’m sorry I was a pain in the ass, Betty. I like you, and I don’t wanna waste my time if you’ve got someone on the side.” Betty felt a sinking sensation and unease prickled over her skin.

“I guess, if you feel like you’re wasting your time, you should tell me.”

“I didn’t say that. But I guess I wouldn’t mind if it you did more to prove you really want me.”

“I’ll take out a poster on the city transit bus.”

“Quit it. I mean it, Bets. Show me you want me.”

“Jay…” Her voice was long-suffering and frustrated, and she had mixed feelings. “I like being with you, okay? I’m not here to play games with you. I hate it when anyone plays games with me, so why would I turn around and dish it out?”

“Beats me. So you won’t play games with me.”

“Never.”

“Then come over.”

“Not tonight,” Betty argued.

“No. Not tonight. Tomorrow. I’m having a get-together.”

“That’s cool.”

“It’s mostly my friends from Pembroke.” That put the kibosh on Betty’s enthusiasm. “We get together once in a while to watch movies and bullshit.”

“I bet.” It was the “bullshitting” that she worried about. Veronica had some strong opinions about the Pembroke crowd, and Betty wasn’t impressed with Jason’s best friend, Cedric. Cheryl’s friend Lacey wasn’t quite as bad, but she hadn’t made any friendly overtures so much as spared Betty from wisecracks and insults over her clothing and character.

“Come over tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”

“I can drive,” Betty protested.

“I want you to come over early,” he complained. “C’mon. Let me come get you. It’ll be fun.”

“I wouldn’t mind just the two of us hanging out.” She didn’t want to come right out and say, I don’t want to hang out with your creepy friends. No point in offending him.

“We still can, but I want to see you tomorrow night, too. C’mon. We’ll pick out some good movies.” Betty felt her resolve weakening. He was being sweet, but the nuisance value of hanging out with his old crowd conflicted with the desire of spending time with him.

Betty considered it for a moment. It would be nice to spend some time with him without having to worry about going to a rehearsal, sports practice or booster club meeting. It was the weekend, so why not let her hair down? She missed little things like the scent of his cologne and the feel of his hair when she slid her fingers through it. He could kiss, too, but guiltily, she reminded herself, so could Reggie.

Reggie’s mouth left her helpless and weak-kneed. No single body part should have the ability to turn a woman’s brain into goo.

Her body betrayed her, and Betty suppressed a little groan. “I’m wearing you down, aren’t I?” Jason prodded. Betty shook off her haze.

“Huh?”

“Tell me you’ll come.”

“Jay…”

“Pretty please? I’ll be sweet. I promise. You’ll have a great time, Bets. I miss you.” Betty growled.

“Brat.”

“Whaddya say?”

“Oh…” she hesitated, then, “Fine.” Darn it. Why did she give in? How badly would she need to slap herself at the end of it all? She heard his smile before he even spoke, satisfied and smug.

“You’ve made me really happy, Bets.”

“Shut up.”

“Is the water still warm?”

“Jay… seriously. Shut up.” Despite her annoyance, her nipples were still hard.


	14. Repercussions, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: S**t just got real…

Author’s Note: The last chapter was nineteen pages. I wanted to spare people having to scroll through it all. “To be continued” just showed up at the party…

 

Betty’s stomach was a mess of knots and nerves. She took one more glance at herself in the mirror hanging in the foyer. Alice peered out at her from the living room where she worked on a counted cross-stitch pattern. “What time is he coming to pick you up, baby?”

“He said eight.”

“That’s an awfully late start.”

“I know. Sorry. It’s Friday, Mom.”

“I know. That doesn’t make your curfew any later, Betty.” Betty sighed and shrugged, giving her mother a grudging smile.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“I know, but don’t make a habit of this. It doesn’t hurt a boy to be a little ‘eager’ and show up early, instead of making you pace by the door.”

“I’m not pacing.” Betty decided it wasn’t helping her to hover on her feet. She sat beside her mother on the couch and stared approvingly at the expertly stitched mesh depicting a family of teddy bears in a log cabin. “That’s cute.”

“It’s going to be part of a pillow I’m making for Polly for her birthday.”

“Lucky.”

“Pick out a pattern, and you’ll get one for your birthday,” Alice suggested simply. “You look nice.” Betty settled on a light blue tee shirt dress and high-heeled mule sandals, but she temporarily kicked them off. She let her hair down and braided the two front sections, pulling the little plaits back and securing them behind her head with a little flowered barrette, princess-style. It was fun to dress like a girl for a change, but she didn’t want to overdo it at the risk of her father putting on his best “Papa Bear” glare when Jason showed up. It was bad enough that he was late… Betty’s blue eyes darted to the clock for the fifth time in the past half-hour.

Her mom was right. Shouldn’t he have been more eager?

“You could have just met him,” her mother pointed out.

“It was his idea. He said he wanted to pick me up.”

“It’s not too late to tell him you want to reschedule.”

“I don’t want him to reschedule, Mom.” Betty’s voice was a near-whine. “I was looking forward to tonight.”

“I can see that. I just wondered if you were still spending time with him. It seems like you haven’t been talking about him as often, lately, and I don’t hear you taking that many of his calls.” Betty blushed.

“It’s no big deal. I was just busy with the play.”

“I know. I just wondered if you two were cooling off a little.”

“We’re fine,” Betty said defensively. “Things are going okay.”

“Okay.” Alice peered back down at her cross-stitch. “You could still meet him, though.”

“Then it wouldn’t be like a real date,” Betty argued. “It’s more romantic when a guy actually comes to get you. I like the ritual of getting ready and watching how he looks at me when I open the door.” Betty’s mother rolled her eyes and sighed under her breath.

“When did I give birth to you again? 1940?”

“Mom…” Betty tsked.

“No. That’s fine. Your father and I got you a car so you could be a bit more independent. Speaking of which, did you charge your cell phone?” Betty’s brows drew together before she nodded. “Good. Keep it turned on.”

“Okay. I’m going over to his house to watch a movie, though.”

“If it’s not a movie theater, you can keep it turned on,” Alice reasoned.

“Fine.” Betty paused at the sound of tires crunching and the thrum of music escaping someone’s windows. “That’s him!” She leapt up from the couch and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Love you, Mom!”

“Have a good time! Be safe! DON’T STAY OUT TOO LATE!” Alice called after her. Betty grabbed her little denim purse, dug into it and grabbed a little Scope breath strip. She popped it into her mouth just as she heard Jason pull open the outer screen door; it melted on her tongue just as she opened the inner one, leaving him looking surprised, fist hovering in the air. Then his green eyes swept over her appreciatively, and the lopsided smirk that she loved appeared, making her feel like the fuss had been worth it. 

“Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!” she called over her shoulder as she pulled the door shut after her. The thought didn’t occur to her that the engine and music from his car were still running. He took her hand and pulled her in for a searching, thorough kiss, setting alarms off in her head. Couldn’t he wait til they got into the car? What if her father followed her out the door to remind her of her curfew? She pulled back from him insistently. “C’mon, Jay, let’s just go, okay? What’s that taste in your mouth?” she inquired, licking a hint of the strange, sickeningly sweet flavor from her lips.

“You,” he grinned as he took her hand. Betty smiled at the sight of the green Range Rover, before she remembered that wasn’t the car he usually drove. Just as she started puzzling over it, the front passenger window rolled itself down, and Cedric leaned his head out the window.

“Oooowwwwooooo!” he howled wolfishly, making Betty want to die of embarrassment; he’d wake the whole neighborhood with that nonsense. Then, it occurred to her: What was Cedric doing in the car in the first place? “C’mon, Jay! Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

“Jason, what’s going on?” Betty tugged his hand, making him pause from descending the short stairs of her porch. He looked back at her and shrugged, grinning.

“Let’s go! There’s plenty of room!”

“I didn’t know I was the last person you were picking up.”

“After everyone got to my house, we decided to go for a snack run. You’re actually the first person we picked up, when you look at it that way,” he teased. His breath was still tickling her nose and he gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Betty cringed.

“I know I said I was coming to your house to hang out with your friends, but…”

“Well, you’ll get to hang out with them a little early! C’mon, Bets.” 

“I don’t know…” Cedric was running his mouth from the front seat, not talking to Jason, so that told Betty that the back of the car was likely full. That annoyed her. “Why don’t you guys just go on without me? We’ll hook up later?”

“What?” he said incredulously. “Betty… come on. Just get in. Don’t leave everybody waiting, we’re not gonna have enough time to watch the movies!”

“Well, you will,” she countered. “You’re not the one with a curfew to break.” She didn’t add You sure seemed fine with making me wait for you for an extra half an hour. 

“Betty,” he pleaded, his green eyes probing hers. “I miss you. Just come with me tonight. Please?” Jason’s friends turned up the music in the Range Rover, and Betty had a last-minute cringe, realizing that her neighbors were probably enjoying the spectacle.

“Fine,” she told him.

“You’re okay with it?” Jason asked cautiously, even as he tugged her along to the car.

“I’m okay with it. Am I in the back?”

“Nope. Shotgun!” he assured her cheerfully. Cedric obliged her, hopping out of the car and giving her a silly bow with a flourish. Betty climbed up into the front seat and leaned away from the door as Jason shut it for her. The music seemed to assault her amidst the clamor from Jason’s other friends. She heard a wolf whistle behind her and a few chuckles, and she hazarded a glance over her shoulder, giving the other occupants of the car a hesitant smile and wave.

“Damn, Jay,” muttered the tall, olive-skinned one in designer-labeled, artfully ripped jeans and a red polo shirt that briefly reminded her of one Reggie owned. “You lied, man.”

“I didn’t lie, what’d I lie about?”

“You said Betty was cute. You didn’t say she was hot.” Betty blushed and tried to laugh it off, but her stomach knotted from the attention. Cedric dug around in one of the plastic bags in back and dug out a bottle, screwing off the fluted cap with some difficulty. Ever the well-equipped party guest, Betty reached into her purse and pulled out her keychain, handing him the little blue bottle opener attached to the jump ring. Cedric grinned.

“I knew I liked this girl, Jase. I take back everything I ever said about townies,” he informed her.

“So generous,” Betty quipped. That earned her more chuckles. Sure. Laughing with me, not at me… They were pulling out of Betty’s neighborhood and heading for the freeway. Betty rolled down the window a bit to dilute the aroma of so many bodies in the car, particularly all of the colognes that couldn’t help but clash. She noticed a fruity fragrance again, matching the one on Jason’s breath. “What are you eating back there, Lifesavers?”

“Uh-uh. We’re eating later,” Cedric told her. “Want one of these?”

“One of what?”

“Wine cooler?”

Betty froze and stared at Jason. He smiled back guilelessly. “What?”

“Wine coolers?” she demanded. “Did you have any?”

“Just one,” he shrugged. “Have one. They’re good. Get her a strawberry one, Ced.”

“I don’t need one, I’m fine.” Betty’s stomach started to knot up again with tension and she began to sweat. “How did you guys get alcohol?”

“My parents keep a stash of the hard stuff, anyway,” Jason admitted, “but Cedric’s brother, Sid, just came back from UMass for his spring break, and he hooked us up. It’s no big deal, Betty.” He nodded to the bottle that Cedric was trying to hand her, hovering by the arm of her seat. “Have one. Relax.”

“Re-laaaxxx,” one of Jason’s other friends encouraged, making little hypnotizey hands as he tried to lull her. Betty rolled her eyes. “Well, Cedric, open it for her, dude.”

“That might help, huh?” he considered. He used her bottle opener and the cap let go with a fizzy sounding pop. Betty hesitated. “Have one,” he encouraged. “It’ll hit the spot.” That brought on more chuckles from the peanut gallery. Betty glanced at it, then took it reluctantly. She reached back for her keys, ensuring she didn’t lose them before the night was over. Betty dutifully took one sip; it was fruity, but the biting sharpness of the alcohol ruined it for her. She would have preferred a plain root beer. She tucked the bottle into the cup holder and endured accusations of “Lightweight!” as Jason sped down the road. Reassuringly, his hand reached out to stroke her knee, squeezing it. The physical contact was comforting, for a moment, and she rearranged his hand until he was holding hers. That didn’t last. His smirk was sly as he freed his hand again and caressed her leg, fingers drifting under the hem of her dress. Betty’s eyes widened and she gripped his hand more aggressively, stopping its climb. Don’t, she mouthed. Jason chuckled and put his hand back on the steering wheel. Betty felt self-conscious in the car full of goofy boys; Jason putting a move on her was one thing, but not in front of his friends. That was a deal breaker…

They turned right off of the freeway, then left at the green exit sign, and it wasn’t long before they reached the wealthy-looking, tree-lined neighborhoods full of two-story homes with immaculate lawns that characterized Pembroke. They passed by the academy, and Betty’s breath caught at the size and grandeur of the campus; it looked like a college. She felt a twinge of loyalty for her own school, and Betty felt she received just as valuable and diverse an education in a public setting, and she’d certainly made lifelong friends. 

Certainly not these friends, she considered, as she listened to Jason’s friends making a racket in the back of the Rover. They turned the corner and drove up to a tall, wrought iron gate. Jason wound down the window and opened the little intercom box. “We’re back,” he announced.”

“Welcome back, Jason,” a deferential voice replied, and a small red light flickered on the box. A low buzzer sounded as the gate retracted, opening up for them to enter. As they drove up, the headlights picked out expertly pruned topiaries and lawn statues; the circular driveway featured a small koi pond in its center, merely hinting at the marvel of the house itself.

Betty was speechless as she climbed out of the car. The house rivaled Veronica’s in its size and shallow brick steps lead to the front door, which featured a large, lion-shaped door knocker. The Colonial-style mansion was imposing, more so when the automatic flood lights came on. Betty silently wondered when the carriage would turn into a pumpkin. Jason laid his palm against her lower back and gently urged her inside when his butler opened the door. 

Betty heard music emanating from the living room as they entered the foyer, and she wondered how many people were already there. She had another, belated fleeting thoughts…

“Cheryl! Turn that crap off! We’re watching a movie,” Jason scolded as they rounded the corner. Cheryl was holding court already, wearing a skimpy red sundress with spaghetti straps. Her girlfriends lounged indolently on the expensive leather furniture, legs draped over sofa arms or propped on ottomans, looking smug as a murder of crows when Betty came inside. Cheryl’s green eyes raked over her balefully. 

“Make yourself at home,” she muttered.

“Thanks.” Betty took up another ottoman close to the door and sat gingerly on the edge, wondering how she ended up there. It was her own fault; of course his sister was likely to be there, she lived there, too, didn’t she? Betty naturally assumed Cheryl would end up out on a date. She certainly had enough prospects. Cheryl didn’t make any effort to turn off her music. Jason and his entourage scuffled their way into the kitchen with the bags of snacks, and Betty heard cupboards slamming and the refrigerator being yanked open. Ice cubes clinked into the glasses and Betty hoped that meant soda, this time. 

Cedric came back first, holding out her abandoned wine cooler. “Here, you forgot this!”

“Thanks,” Betty offered with little enthusiasm. Cheryl snorted. 

“You drink? I thought you were a goody-goody.”

“I usually don’t, and I guess I am.” Her eyes searched the room. “Do you have a coaster?”

“Why? Just finish it,” Cheryl scoffed.

“I don’t really want it,” Betty admitted. Cheryl frowned, then approached her, holding out her hand.

“Here. I’ll take it, then. You’re crazy, girl. Don’t waste good alcohol.” Cheryl took a long pull from Betty’s drink and asked Cedric accusingly, “Is this the last one?”

“It will be in a minute,” he teased.

“Jerks. You weren’t even gonna share.”

“Buy your own!”

“Duh. I can’t.”

“Bet you wish Jay was the older brother instead of your twin,” he countered.

“Hell, no. He’s bad enough, now.” Betty suppressed a smile, since she actually was the youngest in her family, but Chick and Polly were much older, and she hadn’t suffered much heckling growing up. Cheryl turned her attention back to Betty. “If you don’t drink, why did you even come?”

“I didn’t know everyone would be drinking.”

“Jason told you it was a party, right? It should have been implied.” Cheryl’s friends watched the exchange smugly. Her friend Lacey spoke up.

“I like your dress.”

“Thanks.”

“I gave one like that to Goodwill last week,” Cheryl told her nastily.

“That’s nice. Good for you.” Betty simply smiled and shrugged. Cheryl was annoyed that she couldn’t get a rise out of the blonde, and she left the living room in search for her brother. Betty heard her nagging him, “My friends were here first! You guys use the basement!” Basement? Was it anything like the rest of the house? 

“Get out of here, Cher. I had dibs on the living room. I told you I was having friends over for movies tonight, so you shouldn’t have even taken it. Get lost. Take them with you.”

“Easy, bro! There’s plenty of room,” Cedric reminded him gamely. Betty rolled her eyes and sighed. 

“Where’s the rest room?” Betty inquired. Lacey smiled and gestured for Betty to follow her.

“This way.”

“Thanks. Thought I might get lost.” Lacey snickered.

“I know, right? My house isn’t this big.” Betty almost chimed in, until she said “But my dad’s planning to add on a new wing soon.” She nodded to the bathroom, which was enormous. Everything was marble and chrome, with a walk-in shower with three rows of wall jets, three-way vanity mirrors, and speakers built into the walls. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Don’t get lost.”

“Right.” She watched the slim brunette depart and was quick to dig out her phone. She locked the door behind her and ran through her contact book, and she stabbed Veronica’s name with her fingertip. She picked it up on the fourth ring.

Veronica looked up from her pedicure, surprised to see Betty’s number ID. She cradled the phone against her cheek while she painted her pinky toe. “What’s going on, Betty? Where are you?”

“I’m at Jason’s,” Betty blurted in a loud whisper.

“What? Betty, why?”

“I decided to take him up on his invite to hang out with him, but… I wasn’t expecting this.”

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“They’re drinking.” Veronica paused to digest it.

“Betty… you stupid, silly girl. I warned you.”

“No. You didn’t, Ron. This wasn’t part of what you told me at all.”

“I told you not to trust Jason.”

“That’s not constructive right now.”

“It should have been yesterday, Betty. I’m sorry you’re not having a good time.”

“Thanks,” Betty said sourly. “Look… are you busy? Can you come and get me in a little bit?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t drive yourself?” Veronica was aghast. “Betty, seriously?”

“Can’t you?”

“No! I can’t. I’m getting ready to go with my parents to a play. We’re meeting some of his business associates there, they’re bringing along their family. I can’t break away from it, Betty.” Betty bit her lip.

“Not at all?”

“Betty, you should have driven yourself,” Veronica reminded her.

“Ronnie… SO not helping right now. Whatever. Good night.”

“Betty-“ Veronica scowled down at the dead phone and growled in annoyance. “What’s wrong with that girl?” Veronica hastily finished her last toe and capped the bottle of red polish, deciding that she might have to resort to plan B. She went through her contact list and scrolled down to ‘R.’ Veronica’s Persian cat, Beatrice, and Minari both hopped up onto the bed, looking for attention. She stroked Beatrice’s thick mat of fur while the slender Siamese kneaded her thigh with her front paws. It took Reggie a while to pick up the line, which made Veronica anxious. She had a nervous tingle running through her belly.

Veronica’s biggest beef wasn’t with Jason; it was with his awful friends. Betty was a sweet girl and didn’t deserve to deal with that nonsense. Veronica lost herself in thought for a moment, remembering back to a time when she found Jason Blossom appealing, when he seemed to have everything that she wanted: looks, charm, wealth, and smooth talk, all neatly bundled up into a talented athlete. He shattered her illusion and took off his mask.

She was almost startled by the sound of Reggie’s baritone.

“Hey, Ron. What’s up?”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay. I’m doing fine, Ron, thanks for asking,” he deadpanned.

“Warm up your car. You’re going to Pembroke.”

“And I’m making this trip, why? I’ve got plans.”

“What? A hot date?”

“With my Xbox.”

“Cancel it. You can buy it dinner next time. You need to pick up Betty.” That made him choke just as he was taking a furtive swig out of the milk carton.

“Betty? Where is she?”

“At Jason’s. She’s not happy.”

“Not happy?” Reggie saw red. “Why? What happened?”

“His friends happened. He invited Betty to his house for a party, but he didn’t tell her there would be drinking. That’s not Betty’s scene, you know that.”

“I know. I’ve always known that about Bets. Why the heck did she agree to it?” Reggie fumed, picturing her trapped in a house full of Jason’s obnoxious friends. “Why doesn’t she just go home?”

“He picked her up.” Reggie’s fist dropped to the kitchen counter.

“Shit,” he hissed. “Of course he did.” Sounds like my plan for tonight just changed. Why, Betty? What the hell? “What’s his address?” He put the milk back into the fridge and the Oreos back in the cupboard. Reggie was already carrying his cell with him upstairs, looking for his sneakers.

“He lives in Pembroke. Go right from the freeway and follow the signs to go to the academy. Then go up another six blocks. He’s on Blossom Circle.”

“He has a street named after him?” Reggie snarked. “Geez…”

“What’s wrong with that?” Veronica shrugged. “It’s a big property.”

“Sure it is. Fine. Blossom Circle. How long ago did she call?”

“Ten minutes ago. It sounded like she had just gotten there, but still…”

“Did she sound upset?” Reggie demanded. 

“She sounded… I don’t know, Reg. Just a little fretful. Definitely annoyed, but she didn’t seem comfortable. You know how easygoing Betty is, and she’s a good judge of character. If she says someone’s giving her a bad vibe, then they’ve gotta be an asshole.” She was right. There was no question.

“I’ll give you a call from the road,” Reggie told her. “I have to put gas in my tank.”

“Reggie, thank you for doing this. I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ronnie.”

“Bye.”

“Later.” Reggie made record time in rummaging through the clutter in his room to find his shoes and keys. He crammed his phone into his pocket and shouted over his shoulder that he would be back soon when his mother tried to stop him. The thought of Betty being “uncomfortable” made him risk the speed limit once his tank was full. Ugly prickles ran down his nape when he imagined Betty’s call to Ron.

Blossom was such a tool…

 

*

The basement was as grand as the rest of the house. And it was big, but to Betty, it was still far too crowded. 

The room boasted a couple of recliners and a huge sectional sofa and loveseat, so there were plenty of places to sit down. Jason and his friends settled themselves in front of the widescreen plasma set with bags and bowls laden with chips, pretzels and mixed nuts, and unfortunately, more alcohol. Cedric’s brother Sid brought over a cooler and had several packs of beer on ice. To Betty’s dismay, the wine cooler she’d tasted wasn’t the last one. Most of them stayed upstairs in Cheryl’s possession. “Guess you’re just missing out,” she told Betty smugly before Jason led her downstairs. 

Jason scanned through Netflix with his remote. “What are we watching?” Betty asked.

“Might go with Hangover 2.” Betty cringed and suppressed a quiet little “Ew.”

“We could watch the Notebook,” Sid teased. “It’s nice and romantic!” Jason’s friends laughed it up and elbowed Jason where he sat. One of his friends tickled Betty for emphasis. She swatted his hand away and tried to laugh it off, but it was creepy. Betty tried to stay close to Jason without seeming “clingy,” but he was constantly up from his seat, horsing around with his friends. At one point, two of his friends tackled him, resulting in an impromptu grapple that resulted in knocking over a large vase of silk flowers. Betty was horrified when it ended up in pieces, but none of the boys seemed overly concerned.

“Won’t your mom be mad?” Betty pointed out.

“She won’t notice. She hardly comes down here,” Jason shrugged. “Chill, Bets. Take it easy. Don’t worry your pretty head.” He reached into the cooler and tried to hand her a beer.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Aw, Betty, go ahead and have one. Don’t make me drink alone,” he cajoled.

“Um, you’re not.” 

“Have a drink with me.” Jason plopped himself back beside her, making the couch cushion sink beneath her as he swallowed up all of her personal space. “Just one?”

“I’m just not into it. It’s no big deal, Jay.”

“You don’t drink?” one of Jason’s friends piped up. He was wearing a Pembroke Academy football jersey and working on a second beer. “What do you townies do for fun, then?” Betty arched one brow.

“Lots of things. We’re not that deprived.” Jason snickered and leaned over, pretending to bite her shoulder.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He helped himself to a handful of pretzels. “Have you always lived in that little neighborhood?”

“All my life.”

“Wow.” Half a beat later, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Betty looked at him strangely. Did he just diss her house?

“Naw, I’m just messing with you, lady!” he told her, but his eyes suggested otherwise. “It’s cute where you live!” Cute? Was he kidding?

“I’ve waited all my life for that kind of praise. I’m feeling blessed right now, guys,” Betty insisted, giving them her cheesiest smile. He nodded and elbowed his neighbor.

“You should,” he agreed, and Betty wanted to gag.

“He’s just messing with you,” Jason repeated, patting her hand. “It’s no big deal. They’re always like that until they get to know you.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Go ahead and turn on the movie.”

“Hangover 2 it is.” Betty tried not to shudder. Gross-out humor wasn’t her thing. Horror or action movies didn’t bother her as much, depending on whether or not it was a suspenseful movie, or gore for gore’s sake with a too-realistic psychopath at its center.

“Or we could watch some Disney!” Cedric guffawed. He tapped beer cans with his schoolmate. “Jason can cover your eyes during the part where the hunter shoots Bambi’s mom!”

“Dude, you just gave her a spoiler!”

Bastards… Betty was getting bored and more frustrated as the opening credits began. Sid hit the lights, making the screen loom larger than life. Betty felt like she could see the characters’ pores. Jason turned up the speakers on his Dolby system, and it sounded great, but that still didn’t make it a movie she would have chosen for herself. She tried to relax and enjoy herself. Jason drank his beer, and the thought crossed her mind: How was she supposed to get home?

“Are you going to be okay to drive me later?” Betty whispered into his ear.

“I guess. Why?” Was he kidding? “Just watch the movie, Bets. You planning on bailing already?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she argued. “You’re drinking beer.”

“Looks that way.” He took another slug. “And?”

“And you can’t keep drinking if you’re the one who brought me here.”

“It’s okay. We’ve got a big house. You can stay in one of the guest rooms. Or you can camp out with Cheryl and her friends.” Cold dread and disbelief washed over her.

“Are you serious? Jason… your sister hates me, unless it’s escaped your notice.”

“Nah. It’s no big deal. She won’t mess with you while I’m here.” He draped his arm behind her and massaged her neck. “It’s Friday night, anyway. Do your parents expect you home?”

“They expect me home every night, Jay. I’m seventeen.”

“Power down over there, Blondie. We’re trying to hear,” Cedric told her, giving her a theatrical shush. Betty’s cheeks flamed. She longed to slap him. Jason’s fingers traveled from her neck to her shoulder as he urged her to lean into him. His fingertip grazed her upper arm, dangerously close to the swell of her breast. Betty felt self-conscious, knowing they were subject to his friends’ scrutiny.

“Betty, just enjoy yourself. C’mon. We just got here, and you’re already talking about leaving? If you were trying to hurt my feelings as the host, you’re doing a great job,” he cajoled with a smile. He might as well have patted her on the head and said There, there.

“No one called you a bad host.” 

“Down in front!” Cedric cried out, flinging a pretzel at the couple. Betty shook Jason’s grip off of her and headed for the basement steps.

“Bets! Come back! C’mon, Betty,” he hissed. He got up from the couch with some difficulty, missing the feel of her soft warmth against him. Betty was in the kitchen, looking pissed.

“This isn’t going to work,” she explained to him. “Look, your sister doesn’t like me. I didn’t exactly get a warm reception from her earlier, and I doubt your parents would want their son’s girlfriend sleeping over, guest room or not.” Jason was shaking his head, gently gripping her shoulders. “It’s not a good plan. This wasn’t even part of the plan.”

“Plan, schman,” Jason joked. “Betty. You’re tripping over nothing, baby. As far as your parents know, or my parents know, you’re Cheryl’s friend coming to a sleepover.”

“I didn’t pack a bag. My mom will be wondering why, especially if I left the house with you.”

“Be creative,” he urged her. He was still smiling, but his veneer was cracking and his voice sounded impatient. “Come back downstairs. Don’t embarrass me in front of my friends, Betty. They’re gonna wonder why you’re up here.”

“They’re smart enough to figure out, Jason. Give them some credit. So far they’re having more fun at my expense than they are watching the movie.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Did you bring me along as entertainment?”

“Bets… that’s bullshit.” Jason released her and folded his arms across his chest. Betty hated the tension between them, and she longed to smooth it over, but she wasn’t getting her point across. “I wanted you to see my house and spend some time with me, but instead you’re getting all antsy over nothing. I can get you home tonight. All I had was a beer.”

“And a wine cooler,” she reminded him.

“Are you keeping count now?”

“Jason… no. I’m not keeping count. But I can’t go home in your car if you’ve been drinking.”

“I already told you, Betty. Solve that problem by not going home tonight. Just stay over.” His hands snared her waist and pulled her against him. The hint of beer fumes on his breath was a turn off when he kissed her. She broke the contact and gently pushed against his chest.

“Not an option.”

 

*

Reggie found the green sign for the turnoff and navigated down the wide street, impressed that Pembroke had so many four-lane roads. Still, Reggie preferred Riverdale and its small town charm, and he’d lived there all his life. You could walk the streets there at night and feel safe, his family knew everyone, and it was fun being a big fish in a small pond. What else could he ask for?

Betty, his consciousness told him. 

There was no question of if Reggie would end up in his car, driving down these streets; it was a matter of how fast. As soon as he heard “Betty” and “trapped” in the same sentence, he wanted to kill Blossom. Did he really not understand what he had with Betty? Did the guy have a clue that she was too good for him? Reggie huffed a laugh. Of course he did. Reggie racked his brain, wondering why she agreed to let him take her to his house. Betty was grown, granted, but she was a smart girl, the kind that carried pepper spray in her purse along with a rape whistle. She didn’t put herself in vulnerable positions. How did he talk her into it? Reggie’s stomach twisted up into nervous knots. 

What if Ron jumped the gun, and Betty was fine where she was? Maybe the party was underway, and Betty was just having her first jello shot. What would happen if he was wrong? How much of a dumbass would he be then? He was already on unsteady footing with her as it was, but Betty could end up hating him. He couldn’t just come storming in through the front door like a pissed off big brother, could he?

Why was he asking himself these questions?

*

“Betty, cut it out, stop being such a priss!”

“I’m not a priss! Knock it off!”

“You don’t mind shaking your tail in front of Mantle and acting all sexy with him, but as soon as you’re with me, you’re all buttoned up and a buzzkill. What’s up with that?”

“Are you still talking about the play?”

“Y’know what? No. I’m not just talking about the damned play.” Jason leaned in close to her and pointed toward the basement door. “What do you think my friends think right now, watching you being uptight and acting like you’re too good for them?”

“Excuse me?” Whatchutalkin’bout, Jason? her brain screamed at her. “Like I’m too good for them? First of all, whose idea was it to even have me meet them in the first place? If you wanted to spend time with me, and if you wanted me to loosen up, you should have set up a night when we could be alone, Jason. Your friends have been acting like I’m not good enough for them since I got in the car. Jason, I’m not comfortable. Your idea about me staying over is ridiculous, and it’s never gonna happen. Sorry, pal.”

“Fine. You don’t want to stay over? No big deal. You don’t want me to drive you home because I had too many? That’s cool.” He reached for her tiny purse on the counter, handed it to her, and casually wrapped his arm around her shoulders again, but he didn’t lead her back toward the basement. Jason kept an insistent, but not harsh grip on her as he walked her back to the front of the house. Cheryl glanced at them from the living room, looking tipsy and confused.

“Where are you two going?” she called out.

“I’m not going anywhere, Cheryl. Play your music. Drink up.” They kept walking, and Betty almost couldn’t keep up with him.

“What do you mean, you’re not going anywhere? I am?” Betty demanded.

“Yup. Guess you’re not the one that I want, Sandy. Those don’t look like walking shoes, either. Too bad.” Jason jerked open the front door and gave her a gentle shove. “G’night.”

“What-“ SLAM!

*

 

Veronica was right. Blossom Circle stretched on what seemed like forever, and for his troubles, Reggie noticed a huge iron gate shutting him out. He cut off his engine and swore under his breath. Great. Now what?

Reggie noticed an intercom with a little security sensor on it, armed if the little green light was anything to go by. He pushed the talk button and barked into it, “Hello?”

“Good evening, sir,” was the staticky reply. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Jason.”

“Are you one of Master Blossom’s classmates?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Which school?”

“Uh, Riverdale.”

“You sound uncertain of that.” Reggie fumed.

“Yeah, well… we go to school together. I go to school with Cheryl, too,” Reggie threw in for good measure.

“That much can be implied, sir,” the intercom assured him. Reggie growled, no longer amused.

“Look, can you just let me… Bets? BETTY? BETTY!” Reggie heard a low slam and saw a slim figure wearing a scrap of light blue hurrying around the circular driveway toward the gate.

“Who?”

“Never mind. Scratch that.” 

“Good night, young man,” the voice bade him, ensuring Reggie didn’t overstay his questionable welcome. Betty hurried toward him as the outdoor flood lights came on, and she was running at a surprisingly good clip for someone in heels. Then it hit him: Why the hell was she running?

Reggie was too relieved to focus on that yet. “Betty! Let me in!”

“Reggie! Oh, God! I’m so glad you’re here! I’m coming out!” she informed him. From the inside, she pushed a button that made the gate retract and slide open for her. Once the bars no longer separated him, Betty ran for him, and he enveloped her, not hesitating for an instant.

“It’s okay, Bets. Don’t worry, I’m here. It’s okay, baby,” he told her, over and over, and he realized with shock and growing anger that she was crying. Betty clung to him for dear life. “Betty, what happened?”

“Just take me home, please, Reggie. Get me away from here.”

“I will. It’s all right, baby. Get in.”

“I didn’t know what to do.”

“Ronnie told me you were here.”

“I’m so glad to see you,” she whimpered into his neck. Reggie caressed her hair soothingly, breathing in its fragrance, still feeling so relieved that he’d made it at just the right time.

“Let’s get in the car, Betty. Okay? Take it easy.” He led her to the passenger side and opened it, and she sank down to the seat, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, having a hard time meeting Reggie’s eyes yet.

“I’m so mad at myself right now,” she sobbed. “He’s such a jerk. He’s a big phony.” Betty miserably wiped her teary cheek against her sleeve; Reggie gently reached up and cleaned more of the moisture away with the edge of his thumb. He smoothed back a tendril of blonde hair that trying to cling to the corner of her mouth, and one of her hands was now cradled in his warm grip.

“You knew that.”

“No. He was never like that to me until now,” Betty insisted. “It’s like he was wearing a mask this whole time, Reggie. He humiliated me, and his friends were awful! All of them! I just felt like I was being paraded around on display, like ‘Look, this is my girlfriend, she’s POOR!’ They all treated me like trash. I thought he was different.”

“You’re too good for him.”

“No,” she argued. “Don’t say that. That’s how he put it, that I thought I was too good for him and his friends. I’m not like that, Reggie.”

“Of course not.”

“I just… I’m so mad. I knew better than to come here. Something inside me screamed that it was a bad idea, and I did it anyway. It’s like I wanted to prove something to him.”

“What did you want to prove, Betty?”

“That… that I wasn’t running around on him. He said I was playing around with you on the side, and…” Betty paused and wept, covering her face, but Reggie pulled her hands down, tenderly stroking her wrists. His fingertips traced the delicate veins, making her quiver. Her face was blotchy and her blue eyes were bloodshot and watery.

She was still beautiful enough to make his breath catch. “I didn’t want him to think that of me,” she told him. “But it was so hard, Reggie… because, I can’t help what I feel when I’m with you. So, I guess that makes me a horrible girlfriend, doesn’t it?” Reggie nodded and cracked a little smile.

“Not anymore, it doesn’t. Don’t return his calls.” Betty shook her head and sniffled. “I mean it, Betty. What happened? He threw you out?”

“He just shoved me out the front door. He wasn’t rough about it, but still… it was humiliating. He begged me to come, only to throw me out.”

“He’s an asshat.” He kissed her hand and reached up to the wipe the rest of the tears from her cool cheek. “Let’s bail.” Betty leaned back and swung her feet inside; Reggie handed her the seatbelt and gestured for her to lean in from the door frame so he could close it. Just as he climbed in himself, the gate slid shut, heralding the end of a bad night.

“Ronnie called you?”

“She sounded worried.”

“I thought she was going to blow me off.”

“She’s your best friend. Give her some credit.” They headed around the block and began looking for entrance signs to the freeway. “I was worried about you, when she told me.”

“Sorry.”

“Betty…” Reggie sighed, feeling at a loss. “Look, you know I like you, right? And I didn’t start going after you after you started dating Jason on purpose. Things just happened, and… Betty, you just happened. I mean, it seemed like you liked Archie forever, and I figured that maybe, once he was dating Veronica, you might be ready to pay attention to someone else. I didn’t want to push the issue if Archie still had a chance with you, and sometimes, it was hard to tell.” Betty had been staring out the passenger window until he said the name “Archie.” She turned and pinned him with those sad, confused eyes.

“You thought I still wanted to be with Archie?”

“There were times where it seemed like it. I kept getting these signals, and-“

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Just stop the car.”

He pulled over into the bike lane and put the car in park. “Betty, what- mmmmmppphhh…” Quicker than Reggie could blink, Betty was out of her seatbelt and wrapping her hand around his nape, tugging his face down to hers. Betty captured his mouth and kissed him into submission; he didn’t fight it for a second. Her mouth was so soft, and she moaned into his, tearing down his restraint. His fingers found their way into her hair again, scraping it back from her face, then tugging on it to bare her neck. He tasted her skin, nipping the smooth, graceful column with firm lips, and her eyes closed in pleasure.

Alone with him, in the snug confines of Reggie’s car, Betty felt safer than she had with Jason and an entire room of his friends. His firm body was a haven for her when she’d felt lost. She never wanted to let him go.

“What signals are you getting from me now?” she murmured.

“No. Don’t. No games.” Reggie pulled back, with some difficulty, and his heart was pounding. His palm cradled her cheek, and Betty’s face… God, her face… glowed with passion, hiding nothing. “No more signals. Tell me. Tell me how you feel about me.”

“I can’t even begin.”

“Try,” he pleaded, and for the only time in all the years that she knew him, Reggie Mantle looked unsure. His lips were tight and she could feel his tension.

“Well, the thing is, Reg, that’s kind of hard to explain…”

“Just explain it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Every time I try to fight it… Reggie, I don’t want to fight it anymore. I want to be with you.” She stroked the back of his hand, feathering a little kiss over his thumb. 

“Then don’t fight it,” he suggested gruffly. His voice was a soothing husk, and his dark eyes dilated as he stared into hers. “Wanting you and not having you has been driving me crazy, Betty.”

“Are we going out?”

“Yeah. We’re going out.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

“Shut up.” Her expression was indignant and confused until he closed the narrow gap between them. She sighed into his mouth, and time lost its meaning. She didn’t know how long they sat parked, their skin littered with patches of flashing light from passing cars. Nothing mattered but his touch and his heat; nothing sounded sweeter than the sound of her name murmured into her neck.

*

Jason spent the rest of the night vacillating between deflated anger and nagging guilt after showing Betty the door. Jason hadn’t planned on Betty becoming his ex-girlfriend by the end of the night, and he wasn’t used to his plans falling through. What was wrong with her?

What’s wrong with you? a voice inside him prodded. You just let her go like that? She had picked you.

Had she? Jason argued back. He drowned out the voice with a second beer. The movies continued through the night until every guy was asleep in front of the screen. The basement was a sea of empty snack bags, bottles and cans. Jason’s claim that his mother would never notice the vase was shallow and ill-conceived; she took it out of his allowance and grounded him for a week for throwing such a risky party. Since Cheryl participated and encouraged her friends to drink, she ended up grounded, too. Jason took additional punishment in listening to his sister whine.

Unfriending Betty on his Facebook didn’t make the sky fall or destroy his world. Still, Jason Blossom felt a little emptier once he clicked that button. There would always be other girls – many, many other girls – but they wouldn’t be Betty.

 

*

The ride back to Riverdale was pensive. They found excuses to touch each other; Reggie’s left hand stayed on the wheel and the other rested in her soft grip. He enjoyed playing with her fingers and stroking her pulse with his thumb.

“I thought I was going to have to walk home.”

“It was risky not taking your car.”

“It shouldn’t have been. It was a date,” she reasoned. 

“I’ve never made a girl walk home from a date,” he murmured. “Even if you and I had a knock-down, drag-out throwdown, Bets, I would have still drove you home and saw you to your doorstep.”

“That sounds like a fun Friday night,” she deadpanned. He freed his hand from hers and reached out to tweak one of her braids. “Ow! Jerk!” He smirked back at her. Time seemed to flow backward ten years, just for a moment.

“I mean it, though, Bets. He sent you out in the dark, far from home. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if Ronnie hadn’t called me.”

“Okay, big brother.”

“Don’t take it that far.”

“Okay, okay.” He kept stealing glances at her.

“Do you need to go right home?”

“I guess not. Why?”

“I dunno. Wanna stop at Pop’s?” Betty shrugged and sighed. “Or somewhere else? I can take you wherever, Betty. Unless you just want to head home?” Betty wavered a moment.

“Maybe Pop’s, for just a little while.”

“Okay.” They took the Main Street turnoff and headed straight downtown. Reggie parked in the lot behind the shop and made Betty pause before she unbuckled. “Wait.”

“Wait? Why?”

“Just a minute.” He got out and shut the driver’s side door, crossing in front of the car to her side. Reggie opened the passenger side and extended his hand. “Okay,” he beckoned. His smile was sly. Betty let him help her from the car, accepting his ulterior motive as he pulled her against him. His arms wound around her waist as he tasted her again. Betty’s fingers curled themselves in his hair’s dark waves; she breathed him in, his heat, the scent of his cologne, his low rumble of contentment, and the stroke of his hands along her back. Her pulse sped up and their kisses grew hotter, more frantic. Betty’s knees almost buckled, and she felt herself fall back against his car. He followed her, pressing himself closer, more deeply into her yielding body. She intoxicated him. Reason left her, even with the faint breeze lifting the back of her hair and tickling her skin. She heard the buzz of a fluorescent flood light flickering on in the darkness, and Betty reminded herself – somehow – that they were still outside, in a public place. Her hands eased between them and pushed against his chest, but he held her hand there, encouraging her to stroke the smooth muscle and feel his quickening heartbeat. Reggie let her up for breath, briefly. He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment. “Reggie,” she murmured. She’d grown up beside him, watched him excel, get into trouble, and break a winding trail of hearts, yet, she never really saw him until now. His features and tanned skin cast themselves in an elegant mask beneath the street lamps, etching themselves into her consciousness, newly defined. This was what the other half of her heart looked like. His lips traced the curve of her cheek, trailing their way back to her mouth, and when her hand drifted up to rest against his face, it shook.

The journey had seemed endless, but Betty knew she’d found her way to where she belonged. With difficulty, they disengaged, walking arm in arm into the restaurant. It was just late enough that the crowd had dwindled to a few patrons sobering up after a bender with starchy fries. Betty and Reggie nodded to Pop where he worked behind his counter, drying some glasses with a towel.

“Just you two?”

“Yup,” Reggie confirmed, nodding toward the circular booth in the back, knowing Pop wouldn’t argue the point of wanting to save it for a larger party at that hour. They eased into it, sliding toward the center of the cool leather-upholstered bench. They sat in quiet repose, relaxing against each other while they shared a menu. His fingers toyed with the end of one of her little braids.

“I’ll take your order in a sec,” Pop promised.

“That’s fine,” Betty agreed. He winked and smiled at them both, then glanced at them again, noticing the change. Betty’s eyes dropped back down to the menu. Reggie squeezed her shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Everything feels different.”

“Different how?”

“Being with you like this… it’s nice.”

“I know.” Reggie kissed her temple.

“Reggie? When did you start liking me?”

“Liking you? Like, like you, like you?”

“Yeah. Liking me, liking me.” He gave her a searching look, then hedged.

“Wellllll… does middle school count?”

“Are you kidding me? I thought we hated each other in middle school.”

“We did.”

“But you liked me.”

“You were cute.”

“So why did you give me such a hard time? Creep!” She slapped his knee lightly, and he winced, but Reggie smiled at her, effectively wearing her down.

“You were really cute when you were mad.”

“Wow.” She studied his fingers, tracing the shape of one of his cuticles. 

“Fess up. What about me?”

“You? I don’t know. You were always cute.”

“Handsome. Breathtaking,” he corrected her.

“That’s enough of that.”

“Okay,” he conceded, but his grin was impish.

“I noticed you. If you want me to be honest, I didn’t want to notice you.”

“Why not?” He looked taken aback. “How can you ignore all of this?”

“Let’s see. A, you had a thing for Veronica for, like, forever.”

“Ouch…”

“B, every other girl was lined up and ‘noticing’ you, too, and I didn’t want to join the crowd.” She made quotey fingers. 

“But be honest, Bets, C, you were all about Archie back then. That might have gotten in the way of you noticing me.” He looked like he found the thought distasteful.

“Maybe it got a little in the way.”

“Great.”

“What if it’s not getting in the way anymore?” Reggie stared at her, about to say something until Pop walked over with two water glasses and his little flip-pad.

“What can I get you kids?”

“Root beer float.”

“That’s all you want?” Reggie inquired. She nodded. “A large fry,” he decided. “Split them?” he murmured into her hair.

“Yeah!” The prospect of salty and sweet appealed to her. 

“Coming right up.” Pop took the menus and cleared away the extra place settings, leaving them to their huddle.

“So… you liking Carrot-Top won’t get in the way of you and me?”

“As long as you think there isn’t anything else getting in the way?”

“There isn’t,” he said gruffly. He watched Pop disappear into the back to get a milkshake glass and ice cream scoop. Reggie’s finger gently lifted Betty’s chin, tilting her face up to his for a teasing kiss that gave her goosebumps. Betty noticed a few patrons staring at them and felt self-conscious, nudging him to cool things down. He smiled easily and took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I think I was mad at you.”

“When? Recently?”

“Not that recently. Just… you were right. I didn’t want to believe you when you said Archie like Veronica more than me.”

“Do we have to talk about that?”

“Not much. I just want you to know, maybe that was what made me not… y’know, notice you as much. And you were right. Even if I didn’t want to admit it. Ronnie’s my best friend. She knew I liked him, but she always seemed to shove it under my nose when he spent time with her.” Reggie sighed.

“Don’t get me started.” She looked at him funny.

“C’mon. You liked her.” His face said Get outta town! and he threw up his hands. 

“Well, yeah! Who didn’t?” She poked him savagely in the ribs. “Quit it! Whatever. Betty, okay, you’re right… I did like her, but I got over it pretty quick.”

“Not til the end of the ninth grade,” Betty reminded him. Her eyes told him You’re shitting me.

“Not for the whole school year,” he argued.

“You asked her to the spring semi-formal.”

“How did you know?”

“Besties? Hello?”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“She said you tried pretty hard.”

“Right. We’re done with this.” He began tickling her. 

“But-“

“We’re done. Yup. Finished.”

“But you… *heeheehee*… quit it!” His fingers were wicked; it was the kind of merciless, grade school, make-you-have-to-pee tickling, and Betty’s cheeks grew flushed. The other customers in the shop smirked in their direction, but the two of them didn’t straighten up until Pop brought their order to the table.

“It’s a restaurant, not a wrestling ring.”

“Sorry.” He set down the float between them, its generous scoop of vanilla ice cream disintegrating into into the sweet foam and slowly oozing down the glass. He laid down two long-handled spoons and served the fries with a flourish. “Enjoy them.”

“Thanks, Pop.” He winked at them again, then made “I’m watching you” pointy fingers at his eyes toward Reggie before he went back to the counter. Reggie flushed and met Betty’s amused glance. “What?”

“You know what.”


	15. A Day Late, A Million Dollars Short…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty comes clean and ties up one last, loose end.

Author’s Note: This went about how I figured it would. I love this pairing, I had fun with this story overall, even though I hit my usual block toward the end. Thanks for reading it for those of you who stuck with it up until now. I hope I see you again as I continue Girl Next Door and Go-To-Girl. I have other plot bunnies that may result in more Archies fics as my time and creativity allow.

Betty felt a funny prickle of anticipation as she made her way to her locker before first bell. Over the course of a weekend, everything changed. She was almost afraid to think the words to herself, because she wasn’t sure she believed them.

I have a new boyfriend… or did she?

It was confusing. It was thrilling. Betty puzzled over it ever since Friday night. Reggie didn’t help matters any by not calling her. By Saturday night, Betty was tired of waiting for her little smartphone to ring. Sunday found her looking for distractions; she accepted Ethel’s invitation to come over and make rice krispie treats and watch Cabin in the Woods. She still replayed the night before in her head, going over their conversation in the car and at Pop’s.

The excitement she felt at her new connection with Reggie, coupled with the relief that their feelings were out in the open – hers, at least – stood at odds with her frustration at being dumped. Betty hurried past Jason and his friends in the parking lot, hoping her wouldn’t notice her, but Cedric noticed her anyway and muttered “Keep walking, townie trash.” Her steps quickened and she didn’t look back as they continued to jeer.

“God, she’s a priss.”

“Have to pry her knees apart with a crowbar. Can’t hang, blondie?”

“Bet you would’ve gave it up if Jay waved more money under your nose, townie girl!”

“Chill,” Jason growled. “Think I want the whole world knowing I struck out with her?”

“Who cares?” Cedric scoffed. “There’s other girls. There’s hotter, better girls who won’t give you the runaround, dude. She’s not worth it. She was never worth it.” Jason shoved him.

“Leave it alone.” Part of him wanted to join in on the smack talk, and Betty had definitely run him around in circles – hadn’t she? – but Jason still felt an odd pang as she walked by. As much as he wanted to believe his friends and bask in their loyalty to him, the possibility nagged at him that maybe, just maybe, it was the other way around.

What if Betty was too good for him. He ran the night’s events through his mind. His last call with her haunted him.

I mean it, Bets. Show me you want me.

Jay… Her voice was long-suffering and frustrated. I like being with you, okay? I’m not here to play games with you. I hate it when anyone plays games with me, so why would I turn around and dish it out?

Beats me. So you won’t play games with me.

Never.

He’d believed her. She said it with conviction. So, what went wrong? Why did she suddenly close up on him? Just because his friends heckled her a little? Betty was a good sport and gave back what she got whenever she was with him; he liked that about her.

Loved that about her…

Jason shook it off. No. He was better off. Cedric was right. Betty Cooper was trash, and he should have known better.

 

*

Betty fumbled with her locker, wondering why her fingers seemed to forget the combination. What Jason’s friends said rattled her. She didn’t expect him to be cool about it, she supposed, but he’d made the decision to throw her out. The only two things Betty blamed herself for were going against her initial instinct not to go to his party, and not being up front with him and asking him more about his expectations. How far did he think she was planning to go with him? Was he expecting her to sleep over with Cheryl and her friends, or with him? Jason was attractive; she’d felt chemistry and excitement, at least at first, but somehow, the spark gradually died. Jason kept pushing her, too, and her enthusiasm at wanting to please him waned, gradually being replaced with irritation.

Betty thought back to the beginning of their relationship. He’d been silly. Sarcastic, a trait she usually enjoyed. Active and into sports. Mischievous. Sure of himself.

If Betty had to put her finger on it, Jason Blossom reminded her a lot of Reggie. That thought gave her pause. “That’s why,” she murmured to herself as she slid her math book into her backpack.

“That’s why, what?” Jughead wanted to know as he slipped a lanky arm around her shoulders. She patted his hand fondly and squeezed it. 

“Hey. Just talking to myself.”

“Good. Always consult an expert.”

“Ha, ha.” She gently ducked out from beneath his arm and backed up, closing her locker. 

“You look miffed about something.”

“Miffed? Eh.”

“No?”

“Not much. Jug, why are guys so complicated?”

“I’m not,” he shrugged, gesturing to himself with a hand on his chest. “Don’t expect me to speak for everybody else, it ain’t my fault.”

“I know it isn’t. You’re the exception to the rule.” Jughead usually was. “This weekend was a mess.”

“Why?”

“Jason dumped me Friday night.”

“And that’s bad, why?” They began walking toward Betty’s class. “Good for you. Good riddance to that guy. He did you a favor, Bets.”

“I went against that little voice in my head, which is always a mistake.”

“Your gut instinct?”

“No. Ronnie telling me he was a jerk and that I should just leave him alone.”

“Ah. Don’t know how you managed to ignore that voice,” Jughead quipped. “But yeah, ordinarily I wouldn’t give her credit. She was right this time, kiddo. Sorry.”

“So’m I,” Betty admitted. “I thought I liked him. It just didn’t work out.”

“For someone who got dumped, you don’t seem heartbroken.”

“Well, something good kinda came out of it.”

“You not wasting your time on that guy anymore is good enough. What happened?”

“Reggie came to get me when Jay threw me out of his party.”

“Yeahbuhwhuh? What? Threw you out?” Jughead stopped their progress and tugged her sleeve. “What do you mean, he threw you out?” His dark brows drew together, and she saw rare vestiges of anger tighten the corners of his mouth. 

“Yup. I wouldn’t play ball when he wanted me to stay there and drink with his creepy friends. He wanted me to stay over at his house so he could get wasted and not bother to drive me home.”

“Meaning you’d have to stay the night at a guy’s house. So your parents would get pissed. Nice.” Betty nodded and shrugged, smiling dryly.

“Right in one.”

“I hate that guy. I do. What a piece of shit.” They continued to her class. “Wait. How did Reggie come and get you? Weren’t you at Jason’s house?”

“Veronica called him and gave him directions after I called her.”

“Where was Ron that she couldn’t give you a ride?”

“Out with her parents. She couldn’t get away. I’m just glad she called him.”

“I bet he’s glad you called him,” Jughead agreed. “Bet he drove like a demon to get there, too.” Betty huffed. “You know he likes you, right?”

“Well, yeah. I do, now.”

“You didn’t before?” Jughead was dumbfounded. “Really? How did you not know?”

“Well… it just took me a while to believe it.”

“Why? Betty… as much as I hate to even say this out loud, because Mantle isn’t the guy I credit with much, he has good taste. He’s liked you for, like, forever.”

“He has not!” Betty was aghast yet thrilled. Why was she clueless about it for so long?

“Betty, Reggie’s been carrying a torch for you. That little, not-so-subtle crush you’ve had on Archie for as long as I can remember got in the way, remember?”

“Geez…” Reggie had said as much during their heart-to-heart. Everyone else seemed to get it but her.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Bets. I can get behind you with Reggie, even though he’s full of himself, because at least you know him. You really didn’t know Jay.”

“You can’t stand Reggie.”

“I like to bust his chops and give him a hard time. He makes it too easy most of the time, still. That doesn’t mean I can’t stand him.” Then Jughead amended, “That doesn’t stop him from being a jackass, mind you.”

“Duly noted.”

“Thank you.”

“He kissed me.”

“Whoa.”

“More than once.” Jughead covered his ears.

“Ew. No. Yuck. Save this part of the story for Veronica.”

“I’m just saying!”

“I know, but we’re good here. I’m happy for you, I guess. So you’re going out now?”

“If he actually calls me,” she pointed out.

“He hasn’t called yet, huh? Hmmmm.” Jughead arched one brow and shrugged. “You’re on your own, kiddo.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I’m just sayin’…”

“Just don’t. Please.”

“You could call him.”

“And then what? I look like I’m chasing him. He’s supposed to call.” That much, Betty hard learned from Veronica. Hello?

“Who’s supposed to call?” a familiar baritone inquired behind her.

“What?” Betty spun around. Reggie gave her a pointed look, and she flushed to the roots of her hair.

“I’m out,” Jughead told her cheerfully. “Later, Reg.”

“What was that all about?”

“It… was about you,” she blurted, but Betty clapped her hand over her mouth. Reggie’s eyebrows lifted and he pointed to his chest.

“Me? I was supposed to call?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.” Betty suddenly wanted to sink into the floor. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, this. Us. Friday night.” Betty leaned back against a nearby locker and clutched her binder against her chest, a barrier between them. “I guess, I was hoping you’d call, that’s all.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“I had to work. I was at my dad’s office. He needed me to run some errands for him. I had to pick up some camera-ready art for a full-page ad, and I edited some photos. I’ve got an internship with the paper this summer.”

“Wow. That’s great.” Betty felt slightly guilty. “Sorry. Guess you were busy.”

“What are you doing after school?”

“Me? I was going to go to the library and call Ronnie.”

“Tell her you’re busy,” he urged. His lazy smile tempted her. Reggie looked yummy in a snug black dri-fit tee, and his cologne tickled her senses. She felt her resolve not to make things too easy for him slipping.

“What am I going to be busy doing?”

“Taking music lessons.”

“Music lessons,” she asked him incredulously. A little divot formed between her brows. He reached around her neck and tugged her ponytail. “Ow! Brat!”

“Awwww,” he pouted at her. Betty gave him a little shove. Reggie grinned as he reached for her binder, prying it from her grasp and tossing it aside.

“HEY! Don’t… mmmmmphhhh.” He closed in on her mouth, tasting the last remnant of her toothpaste. Her lips were petal-soft and very cooperative. Betty’s argument faded to a whimper of need. He let her up for air too soon. Much, much too soon. Her blue eyes were dazed as they stared up at him. His dark ones burned into hers, and he looked very satisfied.

“I missed you,” he admitted. “Figured I’d see you today.”

“Okay.”

“Meet me in the music room today.”

“Okay.”

“You need another kiss.”

“Okay,” she nodded, totally on board. His fingertip stroked her chin and gently lifted it, and her fingers curled into the neck of his tee while she kissed him back hungrily, possessively. He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat. Betty was his perfect fit.

“Bets, I won’t play games with you. You know that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. That’s all you’re going to say?”

“I’ll see you after school.” She gave him a little peck.

“Music room.” He punctuated it with a tiny kiss. “Call Ron and tell her you’re busy today.”

“I’ll see her at lunch.” Kiss.

“Okay.” Kiss.

“I have to get to class.” Kiss.

“Okay.” Kiss.

“Get to class,” Miss Grundy warned them flatly as she walked by.

“Bye.” Kiss.

“Bye.” Betty felt warm fuzzies as she drifted off to class. 

 

Jason separated from his friends as he entered the hallway from the field house. He caught the end of their exchange and sucked in a breath. Betty’s dreamy smile spoke volumes. They separated, fingers letting go at the last minute as he walked away. There was a faint swagger in his step and Reggie was actually whistling in triumph.

Douche!

That bitch! She lied! Jason saw red. The little hussy lied about not having the hots for Mantle. Did she think he was stupid? She was into Mantle. Anger, disgust and jealousy consumed Jason. 

“Get to class.” His sister’s voice interrupted his rage but did nothing to cool it. “What’s with you?” Cheryl elbowed him. Jason nodded toward Betty’s departing back, watching her ponytail disappear around the corner of the doorway.

“I saw her with him.”

“Who?”

“Geez, Cher, who do you think?”

“What… you mean, Reggie?” Cheryl tsked and wrinkled her nose.

“You knew?”

“Whatever. What was there to know? And who cares? She’s trash. He’s an ass. Now you don’t have to waste your time on that girl. You could do so much better, Jay.”

“Cheryl. Shut. Up.” Cheryl rolled her green eyes and gave a talk-to-the-hand gesture.

“Fine. Fine. I’m wrong.” She began to walk away, but he called her back.

“How long did you know?”

“I dunno. Maybe forever? I don’t know what you ever saw in that goodie-goodie.”

“None of your business.”

“Whatever,” Cheryl told him coldly. “Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

“Fuck off,” Jason hissed.

“Up yours.” There was no love lost between them, but Cheryl suppressed a hint of sympathy for him. It sucked to get dumped, even if, technically, Jason had been the one to show the blonde the door.

 

*

Good news traveled fast, Betty realized sourly. The school was a-buzz about what happened, complete with speculations and twisted stories. Much of the exaggeration surfaced courtesy of Cheryl and Cedric.

“That girl’s a tramp,” she murmured randomly to her neighbor in the lunch line as she reached for a yogurt cup. “She’ll only date you for your money. Watch out.”

“She’s a total cock tease.” Cedric nodded smugly, elbowing one of his teammates where he stood perusing the reference shelves in the library. “Don’t waste your time.”

By sixth period lunch, Betty was tired of the chafing irritation of people’s eyes staring at her as she walked past. Betty paused at her locker, glaring at two freshman girls who were whispering between them and smirking at her.

“What? Don’t you have anywhere to be?”

“Move along, now,” Nancy chimed in as she approached, shooing the underclassmen upstarts along. “Ain’t nothing to see here, little girls. Put your eyes back in your heads.” Ethel looked worried.

“Bets,” she murmured, leaning in close, “what’s going on? Why’s everyone talking about you so much all of the sudden?”

“Girl, you better spill, so your real homegirls have the full story, because your name is in too many people’s mouths.”

“I have a clue how it got there,” Betty sighed. “Jay and Cheryl. I’m not seeing him anymore. All of the sudden, I’m a slut. No. Wait. I’m a tease. And a gold digger. And a liar. And a whore. Let’s not forget that.” Betty ticked off each slam on her fingers. She tried to smile, but her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Why can’t people just mind their own business?”

“Aw. C’mere,” Ethel encouraged. Her long, skinny arms enveloped her, and Betty heard Nancy making soothing noises as she rubbed her back.

“Girl, you don’t have to put up with this shit. Ninety-nine problems, Betty, and a Blossom ain’t one.”

“They’re bullies,” Ethel pointed out. “Nancy’s right. Go to the office. Make them stop.”

“No. It’s embarrassing. I’ll sound like a crybaby.”

“Cheryl and Jay are making you sound like a ho,” Nancy argued. “That won’t work, Elizabeth. Try again.”

“What’s wrong?” Veronica’s voice weakened Betty’s resolve. A tear streaked unchecked down her cheek, to her frustration.

“You were right,” Betty admitted. “He was an asshole. He let his friends tear me apart, while he just sat there. I was so humiliated.” Betty’s eyes were red and watery. Veronica gently tugged Betty from Ethel’s embrace and wiped away the dampness with the cuff of her sleeve.

“I was worried. I didn’t hear from you on Saturday. I thought you were mad at me. Betty, I’m so sorry.” She squeezed her best friend’s hand, and Betty covered her face against the onslaught of more tears. “It’s okay,” Veronica murmured as she hugged her tightly. “Everything’ll be okay. Are you all right? What happened?”

“I was an idiot for trusting him. I thought he liked me.”

“Betty,” Veronica pulled back for a moment and squeezed her hand more tightly. “Did Jason try to make you-“

“No. It wasn’t like that, but he did strand me away from home. You knew that, remember?” Veronica seethed.

“Right. He’s dead. And his sister’s ass has a date with my foot. I’ve heard some of the things that she’s said.”

“It’ll blow over,” Ethel told her hopefully.

“Hell, naw,” Nancy argued. “No, it won’t. Betty cares what people think of her, Ethel, you know that. She doesn’t deserve to have Heckle and Jeckle having a field day with her reputation.” Ethel nodded solemnly. She was too familiar with how cruel kids could be, and how the popular ones always seemed to get away with it. 

“Who’s having a field day with Betty’s rep?” Jughead loomed behind Veronica, munching casually on a granola bar. “Whoa. Water works. What happened?”

“The Blossoms.” The exchange between Nancy and Jughead could be told with expressions alone, quirked lips and arched brows adequately conveying Oh, no they didn’t! Boy, yes they did!

“They’re a waste of flesh.”

“Right in one.”

“Okay. Enough’s enough. Sometimes, you can’t wait for karma.” Jughead’s expression was indolent, but his friends saw a gleam in his dark eyes and heard the wheels turning.

Veronica had been on the business end of that look before. “Will I have to post bail?” she asked dryly.

*

 

Betty made it through the rest of the day with difficulty, tempted to escape to the nurse’s office; cramps were a handy excuse. But that wouldn’t fly tomorrow, or the next day. Her stomach knotted with gloom. She chewed her thumbnail down to a stub and decided to take her lunch out in the courtyard, hating how cowardly it felt. Only the seniors could leave campus on their free period, leaving her shit out of luck. She scrolled through her text messages, munching on her tuna sandwich and typing with her thumb.

Ethel: It’ll be ok. You ok?  
Betty: Nah. This sucks. He’s such a weasel.  
Ethel: Yeah. Well, I’m not gonna say I told you so…  
Betty: :p  
Ethel: I DID tell you so, tho…  
Betty: Yeah, yeah.

Ronnie: Where are you?  
Betty: Outside. Getting some air.  
Ronnie: Come inside.  
Betty: Rather not.  
Ronnie: Just hang out with Nancy and me! C’mon!  
Betty: I’m not in the mood for company right now.

Jug: Hey.  
Betty: Hey.  
Jug: Better?  
Betty: Not much.  
Jug: Sorry.  
Betty: S’okay.  
Jug: Got five bucks I can borrow?  
Betty: No.  
Jug: Guy’s gotta try…

Betty was just opening her water bottle when her phone tweeted at her without any of the sound alerts or tones she assigned to her other friends.

Archie: Hi. You okay?  
Betty: Oh. Hi. I guess.  
Archie: Heard you and Jay are over?  
Betty: Was that all you heard?  
Archie: Why?  
Betty: Just… never mind.  
Archie: Where are you?  
Betty: Out front. Just having lunch.  
Archie: Why don’t you hang with us?  
Betty: It’s almost over. Don’t worry about it.

She suppressed a pang. Despite the fact that Betty had already moved on from her pursuit of Archie, the old feelings still sometimes surfaced around him. She still caught herself preening when he spoke to her, and it hurt to watch him and Veronica canoodling. Having a boyfriend of her own helped, but Betty guessed it was her own fault for poisoning what she had with her Archie Andrews obsession. She’d worn a groove in the floor from taking every convenient opportunity to walk past his locker every day. Old habits died hard.

Betty tucked her phone into her purse, deciding to take a break from all the questions. She’d already checked her Facebook; Jay unfriended her immediately, to her relief. She didn’t want to imagine what his status sounded like, if seeing him in person was already a disaster. She exhaled a shaky sigh, laid back on the grass and closed her eyes. Betty was at a loss.

While Betty counted down the rest of the school days left til summer, she heard the grass rustle beside her. She sighed to discourage whoever showed up. “I just wanted some air,” she warned them without opening her eyes.

“What’s wrong with the air in the cafeteria? Still counts as oxygen, if you ignore the smell. It’s American chop suey today. Can’t miss out on that.” Archie’s familiar, unexpected baritone opened her eyes. He stretched out his lanky legs alongside hers and laid down his backpack. “What’s up? Talk to me.”

“Eeerrrgggh…”

“Right. That said a lot.”

“Can the world just end, already?”

“Uh… no?”

“Okay. Just shoot me, then.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes. It’s that bad.”

“Sorry, Bets. Can’t shoot you, I like you too much.”

“You can shoot me and still like me,” Betty reasoned as she leaned up and propped herself on her elbows, glancing up at him. The glare of the sun set his red hair on fire, wavy tendrils stirred by a low breeze. His blue eyes were filled with sympathy, though, ruining the image.

“No. I couldn’t.”

“Damn it!” she snapped dryly, slapping the ground. Betty blew a random lock of her bangs out of her eye. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Why’d you come out here? Come to witness me wallowing in shame?”

“Yeah. Forgot my phone, though. I wanted to capture the moment.”

“Can’t say I’m sorry.”

“I can. I’m sorry Jay was a dick.”

“Okay. You get to stay.”

“Those were the magic words?”

“No. The magic words are usually ‘Open the door, I have chocolate.’ But those will work this time.”

“Ron said he deserted you at a party?”

“No. He talked me into coming to a party at his house, that he took me to, and then kicked me out.” An uncharacteristic scowl darkened Archie’s face.

“Where does he get off kicking you out of his house? Was he trying to get with you?”

“Maybe. But he was drinking. I told him I wasn’t getting back in a car with him to take me home, and he said I could take myself. On foot.”

“Motherfucker,” he hissed, turning his face from hers for a moment. “That’s… wow.” Archie jerked around to stare at her this time. “Are you okay? How did you get home, Bets?” He reached for her wrist, circling it in his warm grip. Betty shivered, an old reflex that she couldn’t help.

“I called Ronnie.”

“Ronnie was with her parents that night.”

“She called Reggie. He came for me.” His coppery brows rose a notch. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Reggie took you home?”

“We stopped to eat first. It was nice of him.” Archie released her, and she almost regretted the loss of his warmth. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“So. Uh. You and… Reg, huh?”

“Well… I guess you could call it me and Reg, now.”

“Yeah. I guess, I kinda figured. Even before Jay and you split.”

“What, are you kidding? Not before, at least, not like that. I don’t know.” Betty blushed furiously. 

“It’s okay to say you like Reggie. It was kind of obvious.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.” She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Having a guy she was in love with since middle school call her out about her new man was embarrassing, yet there was a precarious little thrill running through her stomach.

Archie was sitting beside her on the grass, telling her he knew another boy was interested in her. Acknowledging her. It was bittersweet, this warping of her fondest dream. Fate brought her to this moment, this bend in the road before she was ready to let her feet take her there: 

Betty Cooper was about to tell Archie Andrews that she was off the market.

“You’re with him now, right?”

Betty paused a moment, staring down at the grass. Her hand reached up to rub her nape helplessly. Her cheeks were pink when she met his eyes.

“Yeah. I kind of am.” Betty reached for her brown bag and sandwich wrapper, balling them up as she collected herself. She scooped up her purse and looped the strap over her shoulder as she stood, signaling the end of their chat. 

“Where are you going?”

“To throw this out. I need to stop by my locker again, too.”

“Slow down.” Archie matched her stride, and Betty shivered again when she felt his hand graze her lower back. “Bets, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“I guess. What’s on your mind?”

“How did you feel about Jay?”

“How did I feel about him? I dunno… how you’re supposed to feel about a guy that you’re dating, I guess. I liked him. He was fun. He was pretty nice, before. It seemed like he liked me. I thought we had a good thing, more or less.”

“Well, was it more, or was it less?” Archie prodded. Betty frowned.

“Why?”

“Well… why Jason? What was it about him that made you say yes when he asked you out?”

“I was single. He was single. He was cute. And he asked me out.” Betty ticked off the points on her fingers, feeling like she was having to explain herself a lot that day. “That’s usually how it works, Arch.”

“If he hadn’t come along when he did, do you think you would have given him a chance?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? If he hadn’t come along when he did? What does that have to do with anything?” Archie’s eyes flitted away for a moment, briefly scanning the courtyard to make sure they were truly alone. He stared at her meaningfully and rubbed his nape. He leaned against the metal rail along the small deck of stone steps leading toward the side entrance.

“If…let’s say you had to make a choice between Jay and someone else that was interested in you when you met him.”

“No one else was interested in me when I met him.” Betty shrugged at his line of thinking, but her stomach fluttered. Archie suddenly looked sheepish.

“Yeah. About that… um. Maybe you’d be surprised to know that’s not true. Or maybe you wouldn’t.” Betty’s mouth opened slightly, and she gave him a quizzical look. She averted her face then, needing a moment to process it all, difficult when he was staring at her like that, with that little expression that she usually loved. She looked up at him again hesitantly, and yes, he was doing it again, that look that always killed her, feeding her daydreams and triggering regret that it was Veronica in the passenger seat of his car, Veronica’s cell number as his top contact on his phone list.

“Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“I can’t.”

“Then don’t.” Archie gave her a helpless gesture, lifting his hands.

“C’mon, Betty!”

“I can’t hear this right now.”

“I think now’s an okay time. You’re not with Jason anymore.”

“You’re with my best friend. And that’s no fault of mine.” Betty was flushing like a raspberry. “Archie, I’m sorry. I wish you hadn’t told me this. We’ll pretend you didn’t, and we’ll stay with how things are.”

“With how things are?” he asked dryly. “With you liking me and not saying anything about it? With me watching you date someone else and pretending everything’s fine?” Betty remembered she wanted to chuck her lunch bag; she tossed it into the nearby can whose sign read “Keep RHS Clean!” and stepped back from him, folding her arms.

“Archie. I don’t know what to say. You want me to tell you that I like you? And then what? What does that mean? You’re with Veronica.” He ducked his head and sighed.

“Yeah. I am.”

“You love her. She’s in love with you. Head over heels in love with you. That’s to say nothing of the fact that she’s my best friend, and this conversation you’re having with me won’t fly. Archie… I don’t know.” She faltered. “You asked me if I would have given Jay a chance if I knew you liked me. I don’t know what to tell you. Probably, but just because I liked Jay, period. But if you had stepped up and told me back then, maybe things would be different now.” Hope sprang into his eyes, and he straightened up.

“Maybe they can be.”

Betty reeled. He wasn’t telling her this. This wasn’t unfolding with her feet rooted to the ground, heart hammering so hard that she felt dizzy. She wanted to be ecstatic, yet enraged. She licked dry lips and shook her head. He nodded and shrugged, contradicting her. 

Archie was offering her, Betty Cooper, her fondest wish.

…three days too late.

“I have a date after school. He’s really awesome, and I’d suck as a girlfriend if I flaked on him.” Archie scuffed his foot in disappointment and looked away.

“That’s your answer.”

“That’s your answer,” she corrected him firmly. “See you around, Arch.” She reached for the door handle, but he opened it for her, lips thin with defeat. Just as they entered the main hall, the bell rang. Students swarmed into the corridor, and Betty averted her eyes when Cheryl emerged from her chemistry lab. Her green eyes raked over the blonde and she tsked in disdain.

“Fuck off,” Archie warned her, and his arm sheltered Betty automatically, surprising her that it reassured her. Cheryl stepped back and hissed under her breath.

“What the fuck?” she muttered. “That didn’t just happen.”

“What is it about her?” Lacey mused by her elbow. “Why’s every guy in this school hung up on her?”

“I haven’t got a clue.” Cheryl fumed over the loss of the hot quarterback as a potential playmate. Those were the breaks.

 

*

 

The final bell startled Betty from her miserable scribbling in the margins of her notebook; she’d already torn the discarded page border into tiny bits while she waited for Flutesnoot to finish his lecture. She was the first person to leave her completed worksheet on his desk as she darted out the door once they were dismissed. Betty shoved her way through the crowd, not following the flow of traffic that milled around her. She stowed her science text into her locker and tucked her notes into her backpack, and her eyes caught a small, folded piece of paper tucked into the door slat. She grumbled under her breath as she opened it, hoping it wasn’t hate mail.

No. Not at all. A faint smile bloomed on her lips.

Hope you didn’t forget about your music lesson. Meet me in the band room.

Miss you.

 

She melted into a puddle.

*

 

Her stomach was fluttering again as she hesitantly opened the band room door. Reggie sat near the podium, turning his guitar. The skylight above him bathed him in sunlight, catching the glints in his dark hair. The glow warmed his coffee brown eyes to the same shade of Coca-Cola in a glass as he glanced up at her, and he gave Betty a lopsided grin.

“You’re late, young lady. Where’s your office pass?”

“Sorry, professor,” she offered slyly. “Gonna give me detention?”

“You have to serve it here,” he shrugged as she descended the tiers and set her backpack on a chair. “Got my note?” She nodded and held it up.

“It was nice.”

“Yeah?” He craned his neck up at her from where he sat, and she draped her arm around his neck.

“Yeah.” She bent and met him halfway, sighing in contentment as their lips met. Betty felt the faint, inadvertent scrape of his guitar pick against her neck as he combed his fingers through her hair. They shared breath and heat, and the troubles of her day evaporated. “Missed you, too.”

“Good.” His eyes stared up at her impishly. “Not sure I want to give you that music lesson, after all. Let’s pack up and go to my car…” he suggested. She swatted him.

“No.”

“Damn it,” he griped, but he grinned and tugged her down for one more smart kiss. “Whatever. C’mere. I’m teaching you some chords.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Why not? You like enrichment. Music is ‘enrichment.’ It’ll look good on your transcript.”

“I didn’t sign up for any music classes next year.” Cheerleading pretty much covered her fine arts elective requirement, and she already did the play. “This won’t really count.”

“Humor me. Didn’t you ever want to learn an instrument as a kid?”

“Kind of.” Her sister Polly had brought her back a neat tambourine from one of her trips to Spain, but it was more for show than actual play. Reggie slid the guitar strap off from around his neck and moved the guitar itself off his lap. He patted his thigh. 

“C’mere. Siddown.” Betty pulled a face. He cocked his head and tugged her hand, urging her to comply. She gave in and sank down onto his lap, fitting herself against the plane of his firm chest.

Alarms went off in his head. She felt so good in his lap that it was hard to focus on anything but how good her hair smelled or her dangerous proximity to his crotch, which was now suffused with heat and hard as a rock. But he simply grinned at her and took his guitar, propping it on her lap. Betty looped the strap around her shoulder properly, and Reggie began to arrange her hand around the neck, placing her fingers against the strings.

“These are frets. Put your middle finger on the fifth one.”

“Which string?”

“This one.” She found it. “Press down. Good.” He handed her the pick. “Hold it this way. No, like this…” He arranged it in her hand so the pointed tip faced the taut strings. “There you go.”

“I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

“There’s no test after class, babe.” Betty giggled. He kissed the back of her shoulder, and she shivered deliciously. “Pay attention,” he scolded, and she laughed harder.

“Slave driver.”

“Don’t make me give you another detention.”

“Sorry.”

“Now, strum.” She picked the single string. “No. Strum. All of them. Bring your hand straight down while you’re pressing that string.”

“Like this?”

“Go for it.” She strummed, and he suppressed a wince at the uneven tone. “Try again.”

“Right.” Her second attempt was slightly better but twangy. Reggie shrugged.

“Not bad.” He covered her hand with his, guiding the pick, and together they strummed a cleaner chord. “Hear the difference?”

“Oh, yeah. Neat!”

“Again.” They practiced the E chord a few more times until she got the hang of it. “Let’s try an A. Same fret.”

“Then what makes it an A?”

“Different string,” he clarified.

“Ah. Got it.” He guided her hand again, and it felt so odd having someone else manipulating her movements, but she was enjoying his attention. Her progress wasn’t the smoothest, and Reggie perhaps wasn’t the most patient teacher; she felt him wince a few times as she hit sour notes, telling her she needed to press harder on the string. His trademark mouth didn’t spare her with several of her attempts, but she didn’t expect anything else after so long.

“Okay. That was a little sour. You just laid a Warhead on that chord.”

“That was more of a Lemon Head,” Betty argued.

“No, that was a Warhead,” he insisted. He reached for her hand and gave it a light slap. “I see more detention in your future, young lady.” She elbowed him and he grunted. “Be careful of my girl, she’s sensitive!” He lifted the guitar strap from Betty’s shoulder, and she ducked out from under it as Reggie set the guitar aside.

“Competition,” she muttered. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Betty rose from his lap and stretched, lifting her arms above her head, and Reggie appreciated the view. Her shirt hem lifted above the waistband of her jeans, exposing her lower back. Her ass was high, round and smooth, hugged lovingly by the distressed denim. 

His hand darted out and captured her wrist, tugging her back to him, and Betty half-stumbled back onto his lap. She stared at him in amusement as his arms coiled around her waist and he adjusted her against him. “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll never have to compete for me.”

“Never, ever?” He shook his head solemnly. Her arms drifted around his neck, and he leaned into her touch as her cool fingers combed through the hair at his nape. His eyes dilated as he raised his face to hers, and she was drawn into their thrall.

“Ever.”

“Reggie…”

Heat and need rose up between them again. Betty had the advantage and he yielded to her kiss, groaning at how sweet she tasted. Petal-soft lips caressed his, needy and insistent, and he opened for her obediently, ready for any lesson she had to teach him, content to be her student this time. Her sigh deepened to a soft moan, its thrum calling out to him, and his fingers traced the pearls of her spine, following its graceful slope until he cradled her hips in his palms. His self-control deteriorated with each inadvertent movement she made against him, and Reggie shivered as unchecked fire consumed his loins…

Betty’s voice snapped him from his haze. “Reg…I’m… I’m sorry.”

“What?” She pulled back from his kiss abruptly, and he cocked a brow at the flush in her cheeks. Beet-red, if he had to be honest, and she was panting as hard as he was. So, what was the problem? his package demanded? They were having fun, weren’t they? “Why? Why be sorry? There’s nothing wrong.” He paused and Betty felt his gentle fingers capture her chin when she tried to avert her gaze, overwhelmed by his. “Is there?”

“No. Not wrong, just… fast. Things were moving… fast.” Reggie’s eyes shuttered, and she felt his deep, gusting sigh more than heard it, filling his broad, tempting chest.

She was right.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Her blue eyes begged to differ, trying to swing away from his again, but he wouldn’t let her escape his words. “Bets, you’re right. We were going a little fast.”

“You know I like you, right?” she blurted awkwardly. “A lot. I don’t want to play games, Reggie, and I’m not a tease, but-“

“Bets. Stop. Hold on. I get it. Yeah, that first question: I know you like me. That might explain what you’re doing on my lap, something I’m totally on board with.” He adjusted her weight carefully, feeling himself mounting insistently beneath warm rump, challenging coherent thought on his part. “And I know you’re not a tease.”

“It goes along with that whole ‘I like you’ thing we were talking about,” Betty agreed solemnly. She leaned her forehead against his and kissed his cheek. “Are we okay?”

“I need a cold shower. So, no.”

“Oops…” She eased off his lap, and she tried not to glance at his crotch. Her cheeks were still red. Reggie heard his junk whine up at him, Whhyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeee? Bring the warm, squishy goodness baaaaaaaaaackkk! Was it capable of whimpering? Betty was staring at him, toying with her ponytail, and his mouth went dry.

Reggie whimpered.

It almost sucked, being the bad boy who fell for the good girl.

*

 

“You know the drill?”

“Yup.” Chuck, Dilton, Moose, and Frankie huddled together in the cafeteria. “Midge and Ginger are on tap, too.”

“Everybody’s got their smart phones?” Jughead prodded.

“Already cleaned off my old files,” Chuck assured him.

“Get as much footage as you can,” Dilton instructed them. “I’ll splice it together and make it look pretty.”

“Yeah,” Jughead snorted, “pretty.”

As a team, they surveyed the crowd in the room, catching sight of the Blossoms as they stowed books and notes into their Jansport packs and hobnobbed with their friends, all of them reeking with privilege and Axe spray.

“Friday?”

“Friday,” Dilton agreed, pushing his glasses up on his nose with a brief nod. His dark eyes looked shrewd.

*

That Friday:

Priscilla Blossom surveyed the dining room with a jaundiced eye. “We don’t have enough martini glasses. Jason, be a dear and get some from the basement.”

“In a minute,” he called back in annoyance, never taking his green eyes from the screen in front of him. His thumbs were cramping around the controller knobs, but he was halfway through the story mode of Assassin’s Creed.

“NOW!” his mother barked at him. To emphasize her point, she crossed his path and folded her arms, setting her jaw in her best don’t-even-think-of-giving-your-mother-any-shit look. Jason tried to peer around her hip at the screen, but when his eyes traveled the rest of the way up to her face, she didn’t look amused. He hit the pause button and struggled up from the comfy couch.

“I’m on it!”

“Cheryl! Bring in the other flower arrangement and take out the trash!”

“Let Jenkins do it,” Cheryl whined from the kitchen table, where she was filing her nails.

“Get up from there,” Priscilla insisted. Cheryl wasn’t expecting to find her mother hovering over her elbow that quickly, startled by the nearness of her voice. Priscilla strong-armed her out of her dining room chair and snatched the nail file from her hand, chucking it back onto the table. “Go!”

“Mom!” Cheryl tsked and wrinkled her nose in horror. “C’mon! I was busy!”

“I’ve been busy,” she corrected her. “The least you and your brother can do is help me finish getting everything ready. You’ve both sat around like bumps on a log all day. Trash. Flowers. Go.” Cheryl pouted and stomped her foot, then did as she was told. Priscilla side-eyed her when she heard her grumbling under her breath.

“You’re not too old to be smacked,” she reminded her in a sing-song tone. 

“I’m going!” Cheryl insisted as she gathered up the remaining two flower arrangements and brought them into the dining room. 

“This night’s important to your father. Everything needs to be perfect.”

“Whatever,” Cheryl grumbled. What else was new? Her mother had even picked out what she wanted her and Jay to wear, to her humiliation. The despised outfit was laid out on her bed upstairs and already ironed. Her brother hadn’t lucked out, either; at least she wouldn’t look like she was ready to play eighteen holes and drive a cart.

As long as Cheryl could remember, her parents had held Memorial Day weekend parties at their estate, inviting the Pembroke elite. Percy’s associates held court at the table, flanked by trophy wives and children just as spoiled as the twins. Cheryl sighed to herself in distaste; those awful Cabot twins were due to show up any minute. Alexandra was such a bitch… her brother Alex wasn’t any better, always drooling over her and trying to show off. Rumor had it he had a thing for redheads. Lucky me.

Cheryl fumed all the way to the trash bin out back as she discarded the rank, stinking plastic bags, waving her hand in distaste to shoo away the flies. Her only consolation was the alcohol; once the adults were deep in the grape, they were less likely to notice if a few martini glasses conveniently “disappeared” as the evening progressed. Lacey was going to be there, at least; Cheryl would have someone to commiserate with once the night became really boring. Worse, when her parents hauled out the old home movies, Cheryl wanted to be drunk.

“Cheryl, go freshen up.” Priscilla was tasting a bowl of ambrosia salad that Jenkins pulled from the refrigerator as Cheryl came in through the patio door.

“I’ve got another half-hour, Mother.”

“I want you ready before people actually get here. Hiram and Hermione almost always show up early.”

“Oh, God. Mother, please say you didn’t invite the Lodges this year!”

“It would’ve been bad form not to, dear. We went to their Christmas party, remember?”

“I can’t stand Ron!”

“I don’t know why not. She seems like a sweet girl.”

“Ugh…” Cheryl left the kitchen before she embarrassed herself. Sure. Veronica Lodge: sweet. What a joke. That witch, Cheryl seethed. She needed to get a life. She needed to get a better personal shopper. She needed to walk off a cliff. And she most definitely needed to step aside and get out of Cheryl’s way where Archie Andrews was concerned. Archie, on the other hand, just needed some time to come around after her brother’s latest disaster. Cheryl didn’t know why Archie got his cute little nose out of joint about Jason dumping Betty. Of course she was going to support her twin when he finally got it together to dump that trashy little townie gold digger, and if that support came in the form of letting everyone know how low Betty Cooper was before they made a similar mistake of trusting her and thinking her sweet, then what was the problem?

Cheryl didn’t know what Archie saw in Betty. Sure, she was cute in that little wholesome, Hollie Hobby sort of way, but there was just no pizazz. None. She had no style and no fire, and Betty bored Cheryl to tears.

“Fucking Girl Scout,” Cheryl muttered under her breath as she reached her room.

“I’m surprised Mom didn’t dig your sash and badges out of the attic,” Jason teased from the corridor.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t forget to tie some pink bows on your pigtails tonight, Cher. Dad might break out the camera.”

“Go take a shower. You stink.”

“You’re just smelling your own cooch. Wash that thing between guys, Cher. Sheesh. Phew!” Jason made a face and fanned the air. Cheryl grabbed a throw pillow and brandished it, running at him to give him the bum’s rush. Jason darted away; her throw missed its mark, and the pillow hit a hanging painting, nearly knocking it from its mount and leaving it swinging. “Oooo! Mom’s gonna get youuuuuuu!”

“I hate you!” she snarled. “Get out of my face, Jay!” He chortled as he ducked into his own suite.

“You’re a lousy shot!” His voice was muffled. Cheryl slammed her bedroom door and flopped onto her bed, landing just shy of the dreadful outfit her mother picked out. She sighed. At least it wasn’t seersucker, like the awful pink-and-white, checkered number with a petticoat under it that her mother made her wear on their fifth birthday. She looked like a cupcake.

Cheryl drew herself a floral-scented bath piled high with bubbles and cranked her little iPod, letting the little speaker deck drown out the sounds of the rest of the house. Might as well drag it out as long as she could…

*

“I sure appreciate you helping me out at the last minute,” Papa Segarini assured Jughead, wiping his gleaming forehead with his apron. “This is a huge catering job that the Blossoms booked at the last minute! I’m just glad I got everything done on time!” Jughead smirked indolently as he loaded the last tray in the back of the delivery truck.

“Normally I don’t aid the enemy,” he reminded him. Segarini chuckled.

“Give Pops my best. And give him the finger for me.”

“Just be glad the Blossoms like Italian food,” Jughead reminded him. “Their chef specializes in French.”

“He can specialize in TV dinners for all I care. Hurry up! Go! Don’t let my bruschetta get cold. And the anchovies in the green goddess dressing will get a little high if you let it sit out too long…”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jug touched the edge of his pointed beanie in salute as he drove off. He grinned down at his secret weapon. The slick, rainbow-hued surface of the DVD gleamed up at him with promise.

The Blossoms were going down.

Jughead followed Veronica’s directions easily, noticing that traffic was beginning to pick up after he turned off of the freeway. About expensive-looking cars passed him, and he knew he was headed in the right direction. A few manicured lawns later, he turned right onto Blossom Circle. “Sheesh… must be nice,” he muttered to himself. Fountains. Mile-high iron gates and hedges. They even had a lawn jockey, fer cryin’ out loud. It made the Lodge’s home look like a Howard Johnson’s. As Jughead drove around the circular driveway, a portly man with a florid complexion and pristine white chef’s jacket came running out the front door, flagging him down. Jughead rolled down the window, and the guy was panting in exasperation and exertion.

“No! Not out front! Use the service entrance around the back!”

“What makes you think I’m not here for the party?”

“The name on the side of the truck, genius. Go ‘round the back, and be quick about it. Guest are starting to show up here already. They don’t need to see this dirty truck.” He held his tongue about Jughead’s appearance. The lanky teen smirked at him, less than dapper in his Yoda t-shirt and gray beanie, legs comfortably bared by his baggy board shorts and Teva sandals. Jughead nodded to him and followed the direction of his pointing hand, humming cheerfully. He patted the disc beside him, excited that his plan was working so well, with relatively little effort on his part. That was the best kind of plan.

Jenkins met him around the back and began to help him unload the truck. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Eccchhh… I can smell the anchovies.”

“I’d keep it in the fridge until you’re ready to serve it,” Jughead offered helpfully. “Otherwise it might get a little high.”

“Tell your boss we only went with his catering business because Vito’s in Pembroke was already booked. He should thank me, since my boss invited twice as many guests to this year’s dinner as he did last spring. I needed help, kid, but don’t make me regret it.” He side-eyed Jughead. “You always work for Segarini dressed like that?”

“This is my side job. I’m a musician.” He didn’t mention that he was still in high school, or that he played most of his concerts in garages and gymnasiums. He almost bit his tongue when the guy asked him if he worked for Segarini. As if. Jughead was loyal to Pops, but if his seeming defection helped him redeem Betty’s good name, then so be it.

“Don’t quit your day job, kid.” Jughead’s smirk dropped, but Jenkins turned his attention back to the food. “Is this the antipasto?”

“I guess so.”

“Green goddess salad?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“It’ll do.”

“Fine. Can I use your bathroom?” Jenkins gave a long-suffering sigh. 

“Be quick about it. That way.” Jughead followed his finger again toward the back hall.

“Thanks, bud.”

“Don’t thank me if that antipasto’s as bad as I think it is. Mrs. B. will have my head.”

Jughead headed down the hall, scoping out the house. The Blossom twins were nowhere in sight. He glanced around and noticed the door to the front den.

Bingo. They had a theater-sized flat screen and Blue-Ray player, all set up and ready to go. Jughead sniggered to himself as his eyes landed on two DVDs. The first one was labeled “Jason and Cheryl, Copied from VHS.” Jughead shook his head; who ever watched VHS tapes, anyway? Dinosaurs? Mr. Wetherbee?

Jughead took his disc and switched it for the one in the first case, whose label named its footage the oldest, birth to age five. It was sickening, he mused. He’d hate it if his own folks dragged out family movies for mixed company to watch, especially the dreaded “bathtub” shot or him running around in Underoos and cowboy boots, waving a toy six-shooter. His mother kept threatening to play it for his prom date, and now that he actually had one – Brigitte said yes – he was worried she would make good on that promise. He cringed. Sheesh… the horrors.

“Where is that delivery boy? He went this way to use the can,” Jenkins grumbled from down the hall. Jug dropped the DVD back on the coffee table and darted toward the door. “You!”

“Me?”

“Out! Guests have started to arrive!”

“I haven’t even-“

“Cry me a river, kid. Go. Scram! Move that truck!”

“I got it! I’m going!” Jughead hurried for the back door, trying to ignore the complaints from his bladder.

He squirmed the rest of the drive back to Segarini’s, but it was worth it.

*

Dilton and Chuck watched from the shrubs behind the front gate as the guests’ cars filed into the driveway. He saw Ginger Lopez climb out of her tiny Audi. “Ginger,” Dilton hissed. She turned briefly and caught his eye, then glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being watched. “Take this. Plant it somewhere close to the TV.” He handed her a tiny, wireless Web cam he’d designed himself. “We’ll be out here, picking up the feed.”

“I’m glad you guys are my friends,” Ginger mused. “I’d hate it if you decided to go after me.”

“Stay golden, Ginger,” Chuck suggested, puckering his lips in an air-kiss. Ginger tsked, chuckling as she headed for the party. Sanford, the head butler, showed her inside the foyer. Cheryl was already holding court with her friends in the den. Cheryl looked bored out of her mind, and Ginger was secretly pleased to see her in a floral-printed Laura Ashley number with a demure hemline that reached just above her ankles.

“Don’t say it,” Cheryl warned her in gritted teeth.

“It’s… so wholesome,” Ginger assured her, kissing her cheek.

“Bah!”

“Is that bruschetta?”

“Have one. But skip the antipasto. Something in it winked at me.”

Cheryl went back to regaling Midge, Lacey, and some of her Pembroke friends of her last trip to St. Maarten over winter break, glad for the moment that they were ignoring her. She took that moment to look for a perch for the Web cam. She peered down into it and murmured, “Hope you guys can hear me.”

“Loud and clear, beautiful. Loud and clear,” Dilton muttered back, doubting that she was listening to him. His perspective of the room kept rocking and turning as she moved around, making up her mind where to put it. She finally settled for setting it on top of a truly homely clay sculpture in the corner, turning it so the tiny lens faced the set. “Bingo. We’re in.”

“Nice.”

“Now we wait.” The boys clicked on their smartphones and played Candy Crush for a while. Chuck swatted a mosquito just as it landed on his arm; the air was beginning to cool down as the sun went down.

It was just a matter of time.

*

The night progressed as Jason and Cheryl could have predicted. Cedric attempted to pick up on Ginger, and the kitchen rang with the sound of her slap. No one sympathized with him. “What?” he yelled after her. “I got new seat covers in my Ferrari, babe! I just asked if you wanted to try ‘em out!”

“Get bent,” she tossed back.

“You kids behave,” Priscilla hissed at Cheryl. “Don’t let your friends turn this into a frat house. Keep them in check, or they all go.”

“Mother!” she whined. “It’s so boring!”

“That’s not my fault. You kids have free rein of the basement to play your little games.” Only her mother would refer to their Xbox Kinect console as their “little games.”

“No, we don’t. Daddy kicked us out. He and Mr. Lodge are drinking scotch and talking about annuities, or some weird thing.”

“Hiram and Hermione are downstairs?” Priscilla brightened. “Where’s Veronica?”

“Out back,” Cheryl informed her flatly. “I just might puke.”

“Stop it. Be a nice hostess.”

“Fine.” Cheryl stomped outside, pouting the entire way, flanked by Lacey and Ginger. Ginger caught sight of Veronica, nonchalantly picking at a tiny plate of crudités. She glared at the gaggle of Pembroke boys who ogled her legs in her short sundress, but she smirked when she saw Cheryl’s ensemble.

“How quaint!”

“Shut. Up.”

“You won’t get your virginity back in that, but nice try, Cher.”

“I repeat, Shut. UP.”

“Awww,” Veronica pouted. She walked up and grasped Cheryl’s shoulders and air-kissed her on both cheeks. “It’s all right, Blossom. It’s your party, you can cry if you want to.”

“Your mom let you off your leash for a few minutes?” Veronica shrugged coolly.

“She has her wine.” Cheryl sighed.

“That makes one of us.”

Cheryl accomplished her filial duty, and she turned from Veronica dismissively. Ronnie and Ginger caught each other’s eye and winked.

It was going to get ugly.

*

Jughead was the mastermind behind the plan, but the best part had been the timing. Even though her previous, ill-fated attraction to Jason Blossom had left a bad taste in her mouth, Veronica still occasionally got dragged along to luncheons with her mother at her ladies’ club. She’d grown accustomed to smiling until her face hurt and giving Priscilla Blossom polite, pat answers like a trained parrot. She wasn’t all bad, but her daughter… Veronica shuddered.

She’d suffered more than one of the Blossom family’s cookouts. At least this time, she had a couple of friends from school nearby, and the mission to complete of humiliating her most hated rival. No one hurt her bestie.

Jason sidled up to her and was just about to open his mouth. Without looking at him, Veronica intoned, “Don’t even THINK about it.” He shut his mouth, glared, and slunk away. Veronica smiled calmly and sipped her ginger ale.

It was good to still be the queen…

*

Three interminable hours later found the party in full swing. The adults were ensconced in the den with their after-dinner wines and scotch. Cheryl and Jason raided the basement supply, covertly topping off several Coke bottles with expensive rum and smuggling them upstairs to their friends. Easy listening music pumped from the speakers, and Veronica and Cheryl both wanted to die when their parents got up and cut a rug with the rest of the old fogeys. 

“Please, stop,” Cheryl whined softly. Veronica merely facepalmed.

“Your mom’s really shaking it,” Jason remarked.

“It’s the wine. Shut your piehole.”

“Work it, Mrs. L!” Jason cheered.

“Go hop in your golf cart,” Veronica snapped. Cheryl sniggered and swigged her doctored bottle of Coke.

“Up yours.”

“Get bent.”

“If this is how the rich live,” Ginger murmured to Midge, not bothering to finish the sentence.

“Count me out,” Midge agreed, shaking her head. “Glad I don’t roll like that.” She had a gruesome thought. “What if that’s us in thirty years?”

“Slap your own mouth.”

Priscilla sailed over to the stereo and turned down the volume on the music.

“Oh, no,” Jason groaned as he saw his mom pick up the DVD cases he loathed.

“It’s time. Home movies!” she sang.

“Mommmm,” Jason whined.

“Mother, if you love me, you’ll put those away,” Cheryl cajoled. “I’ll clean my own room for a month!”

“Ooh. Tempting. Nah,” her mother declined sweetly, patting her cheek. “Sit down! Get comfy! Percy, turn down the lights!” Veronica silently gloated. Midge and Ginger hovered near the door with baited breath. Percy pushed the DVD into the console and hit play.

“I love the one with you when you were four, when you had those cute Rainbow Brite PJ’s,” Priscilla exclaimed.

“Mother. Please. Enough.”

“Aw. You’re still my baby. Pipe down.” Priscilla sank down into the sofa cushions with her wine glass. Cheryl took another hearty swig of her Coke, attempting to anesthetize herself.

Ginger almost felt guilty for her part in Jughead’s plan, but it was too tempting to pass up. Lifting the disc the last time she visited Cher had been Veronica’s suggestion when she mentioned that the Blossoms were fond of showing the old footage at their get-togethers. Jughead traded it for the one that Dilton had doctored, splicing together old footage with new, covert stuff gleaned from his friends’ smartphones. It was easy to get; the Blossom twins incriminated themselves on a daily basis. So much for private school teaching a kid class, Ginger mused.

The lights went down, and the Blueray player hummed to life. Older, choppy footage of Percy and Priscilla appeared on the screen, holding two red-haired babies in matching mint green receiving blankets. The prerequisite “Awwww!’s” greeted this, and Cheryl groaned.

“Shoot me now.”

“Hush!” her mother hissed.

The footage continued on through their first birthday, showing the twins smashing and devouring cake and smearing frosting in their hair and all over their high chair trays.

“Lookin’ good, bro,” Cedric teased, cramming a bruschetta into his mouth.

“Up yours.”

Thanks to Dilton’s seamless editing, it was sudden and jarring when the footage shifted from old to new. Cheryl sat at her lunch table, thronged by her friends and holding her hands apart in the universal gesture for someone well-endowed.

“I swear to God, he was THIS BIG,” she chortled. “I wouldn’t lie to you. His dick was HUGE…”

“What?” Priscilla’s mouth gaped, and she nearly dropped her wine. The blood drained out of Cheryl’s face.

“The condom almost didn’t fit,” she bragged. “We made it work…”

“Made WHAT work, young lady?” Priscilla looked livid. Cheryl swallowed roughly.

“Nothing! Nothing worked, Mother! That’s… just ignore that!”

The scene onscreen changed to a five-year-old Cheryl at a carnival, holding a teddy bear her father had won for her and biting into a corn dog, grinning at whoever was holding the camera. Jason’s friends sniggered without mercy in the back of the room.

“Sweet,” Cedric murmured thoughtfully. Jason slapped him upside the back of the head.

Footage of Jason at the beach came next, showing him playing in the sand with a shovel and pail. He walked a small Superman action figure up a hill of sand he’d just upended from the bucket. “I’m Supermaaaannnnn, doo-doo-doo-doo-dooooo…” Cedric howled, but they were all silent when the scene changed again to Jason at a recent party, where he wore a grass skirt over his board shorts and was singing a memorable rendition of “Paparazzi.” Percy rubbed his eyes in shame and confusion at the spectacle his son made in front of his friends, the children of people he had to work with everyday. Every adult in the room was aghast. The scene cut again to Jason making out with a girl behind the bleachers at a basketball game, behaving less than gentlemanly.

“Grab onto it,” he encouraged her. The expensive speakers heightened the sounds they made as they groped each other and their breathing grew heavy.

“JASON!” Priscilla shrieked.

Cheryl wasn’t spared further humiliation. She mentally counted weeks of being grounded as the scene flashed to her at age five one moment, dressed up in costume jewelry and a feather boa, talking to her dolls, then doing a mock strip tease at Lacey’s house party the next. The camera zoomed in close when Cheryl pretended to fellate a green popsicle.

“Good Lord,” Percy muttered, scrubbing his face with his palm. “All right. That’ll do. Time for Ultimate Fighting. We’ve got it on Pay-Per-View. Hiram, open that other bottle of scotch.”

“All RIGHT!” Cedric crowed.

“Out. All you kids, out. Except for you two,” Priscilla barked, deflating his sails. Imperiously she waved everyone under the age of forty out of the den.

“Veronica, it will be best if you just wait in the car,” Hermione informed her stiffly.

“Yes, Mother.” Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth as she nodded briefly to Cheryl. “It was… fun.”

“I hate you,” she hissed through her tears.

“We’ll just… y’know, go,” Ginger suggested, grabbing Midge by the elbow as they made a hasty exit. Midge had already made a furtive grab for the tiny Web cam and was stuffing it into her purse. While the room was clearing out, the DVD still played, and Cheryl and Jason watched themselves in shame, all of their antics blown up on a big screen. 

“Mother… it’s not what it looks like,” Cheryl began, voice wobbling.

“That looks like something, young lady. How could you?”

“I never want to see that again,” Percy boomed. 

“Just get rid of the tape!” Jason piped up. If he ever had to watch their old home movies with company again, it would be too soon.

Percy’s only reply was a swift slap upside the back of his son’s auburn head.

*

 

“It’s about time, girls. I was getting eaten alive,” Chuck told Ginger and Midge as they made their escape, opening up the security gate. They all climbed into Ginger’s tiny Audi, and she drove the boys back to Chuck’s little truck down the street.

“Did you get it all?” Dilton patted his laptop.

“Got the spy cam?”

“Yup.” Midge handed it back to him. “That was a close call.”

“Cheryl’s never inviting me over again, but it was worth it.” Ginger sighed. “The food sucked.”

“Tasted like Segarini’s,” Midge added. “You guys didn’t miss anything.”

“I wish Betty had been here to see this,” Chuck mused.

“It’ll be like she was,” Dilton promised. He patted the laptop again. “It’ll be just like she was.”


	16. Dear Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Diary
> 
>  
> 
> Snips and snails, and puppy dog tails. That’s what Mr. Right is made of.
> 
> Author’s Note: Thanks for following me on this journey. I had fun writing this story and hearing feedback from so many neat people on it. More to come soon on The Girl Next Door, and I will soon conclude Elective, my Ethel/Moose story.
> 
> Warnings: Low-key, not-too-gratuitous smut. I almost didn’t add it. If you were fine with how the last chapter ended, feel free to consider the story finished with that one. It won’t hurt my feelings if you skip this.

Betty dropped her backpack on the floor and kicked off her Converse low-tops. She eyed the overstuffed Jansport pack wearily, knowing she had a good three hours of homework ahead of her, but it could wait. She needed to decompress, and to process everything that had happened over the weekend.

 She eyed herself in the mirror, leaning against the bureau as she studied herself. “I don’t feel much different,” she mused. She smiled into the mirror and hugged herself, then adjusted the small strip of black and white photo booth shots of her and Reggie that she had tucked into the slat. Their expressions were goofier from one panel to the next, and he kissed her cheek in the fourth, something she blamed for her sappy grin. It gave her the warm fuzzies to remember that day.

 She went to the book shelf and pulled out her diary, a battered purple hardcover journal her parents gave her for her sixteenth birthday. It was three-quarters full of her scribbles and thoughts, some girlish, some heated, some humiliated, all candid. She flopped on the bed and propped herself up on a stack of pillows, grabbed her favorite pen, and flipped to the next empty page. There was so much on her mind.

 “Dear Diary,” she murmured as she began to jot, “it finally happened. And…” she paused, smiling smugly, “it was AMAZING.”

 

*

 

**_Three days ago:_ **

She was rummaging through her locker after last bell when she felt a pair of hands cover her eyes and a warm body press itself gently against her back. “Guess who?” murmured a yummy baritone, warm breath stirring the hairs at her ear.

“I’m stumped,” she claimed, grinning. “I might need a hint.” He growled against her neck and dropped his hands, coiling his arms around her waist. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, gorgeous.” She leaned into his kiss on her cheek, then turned her face up to his for a proper greeting, humming in pleasure at the taste of his lips.

“What’s up?”

“Date. Tomorrow. You and me.”

“Where?” He released her to let her finish getting her books from her locker, but he settled for resting his chin on her shoulder.

“It’s a surprise,” he allowed, and he had a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. “Dress sexy.”

“Stop it,” she muttered, lightly slapping him on the chest, and her eyes flitted away for a second. But she smirked up at him and kissed him. “You’re goofy.”

“ _You’re_ goofy. I’ll pick you up around two.”

“Sounds good. Where are you going now?”

“I’ve gotta help my dad at the newspaper. I start my internship in a week.”

“Lucky,” Betty told him. “That sounds awesome.”

“Apply for one next year.”

“I signed up for ROP second semester,” she told him. “I can’t wait!” Betty served on the yearbook committee and occasionally wrote for the school paper. The thought of work experience in journalism made her salivate. “So, how was your day?” She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his as she kicked her locker door shut and followed him outside.

“Lonely,” he told her. “Going a little crazy thinking about that little thing you did-“ He smothered a grumble of surprise, words garbled by her hand covering his mouth. Betty’s cheeks immediately flushed pink.

“Don’t talk about it here,” she told him in a heated whisper. “Geez…” He wrestled her hand away but held onto it.

“I’m still thinking about it,” he shrugged. His eyes held a mischievous glint that made her tingle. “And I can’t stop thinking about _you_.” He was leaning in toward her, elbow propped against the locker adjacent to hers. She stared up at him through her lashes and looked down. He tipped her chin up to make her look at him fully, and she smirked and blushed again. “C’mon, Bets… it’s true. I can’t.”

“I know,” she admitted. “Me either, Reggie. It’s just…”

“I know. I know, I know. I still can’t stop thinking about that, either.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, except… I don’t know if I’m quite there yet. I’m… almost ready, but I’m not, y’know? There’s no turning back. Reg…” He looked away a moment, and disappointment clouded his face. “I want to be with you, but I’m afraid of going all the way because things might be different between us.” He turned back to her at the feel of her soft grip on his arm. “That worries me.”

“Bets,” he insisted, “things might be better. Don’t you trust me?”

“I do,” she flared back. “You know I trust you more than anyone, baby.”

She did it again, completely disarming him with her pet name and those soulful, big blue eyes. Reggie sighed and took her hand, lacing his fingers through it. “It’s hard,” he said softly.

“I know it’s hard to wait, Reggie.”

“No. _It’s hard_. Like, _painfully_ hard. I’m dyin’, here,” he deadpanned, and he let his knees buckle in goofy fashion, pantomiming someone with an uncomfortable “situation.” His expression was comical. Betty rolled her eyes and giggled. “What, no sympathy?”

“None,” she said cheerfully. She kissed away his wounded look, earning a sigh from him. “You’re cute when you’re desperate.”

“And you’re _evil_ ,” he informed her. “Cute, and _evil_.”

“Flatterer,” she smirked, patting his cheek. She gave him one more quick peck. “Two?”

“Yup.” She pulled back, but he leaned down and stole one more kiss. She chuckled against his lips. “Two.”

“Okay.”

“Something sexy,” he called after her, then he felt himself coloring as he realized half the corridor had heard him. “Shit,” Reggie muttered under his breath as catcalls and whistles greeted him. He knew without seeing her face as she hurried away that Betty was blushing, too.

*

 

**_Two days ago:_ **

 

“Sexy,” Betty muttered as she perused her closet’s offerings. That was stretching it a bit. She hated to fall short of Reggie’s expectations, but she needed something she her parents would actually allow her to wear out of the house. She stood in her tiny red bikini briefs and a shell pink underwire bra, drumming her finger against the closet door. “Hmmm…”

The search began. She unloaded armfuls of garments and laid them out on the bed and gave herself a little fashion show, wondering what would impress Reggie – her official boyfriend. It was such a funny way to think of him, but the thought made her smile deliciously. She’d had a month to get used to it, but it was still a novelty, and it still thrilled her. The clothes on the bed gradually ended up on the discard pile, steadily growing into a big heap. Jeans. A maxi skirt. Peasant blouses. Tee shirt dresses. A demure sleeveless sundress that screamed “safe” and annoyed her. Fitted tees and capris. Betty’s fuzzy glow wore off as she grew more frustrated with her choices. “Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot… ugh.” She tossed aside a pair of leather flip-flops and threw her hands up in the air. “I’ve got nuthin’…”

 

As if she’d spoken the magic words, her cell rang, and she dove for it over the edge of the bed. “Ooh, yay!” She slid the accept call dot across the tiny screen, chirping a breathless “Hey, Ronnie!”

“What are you up to today?”

“Everything. I’m desperate. You called just in time to save my life.”

“Boy, I sure am nice to you. How am I saving your life?” Ron’s interest was piqued.

“I need to borrow something hot.”

“Only if you can be here in ten minutes. I have a date. Archie’s taking me to Rinaldi’s tonight, and I have a complete overhaul scheduled at the spa.”

“Overhaul?” Betty was intrigued.

“Hot stone massage. Oxygen facial. Mani-pedi. Leg wax. Brow wax…” Ronnie droned on and on before Betty realized she wouldn’t finish soon.

“Sounds great!”

“Daddy said it was my gift for getting a B in algebra two.” Veronica struggled in math, a subject Betty usually had no problem with.

“Mine would have just given me movie tickets.”

“Movie tickets,” Ronnie murmured. “How quaint…”

“Ten minutes?” Betty reminded her.

“Nine and a half and counting.”

 

*

 

Reggie couldn't stop sweating.

He finished a long shower and scrubbed himself with liberal amounts of Axe body wash, closing his eyes as he leaned back into the spray to let the water run through his slick runnels of black hair. His heavy sigh echoed back to him off the tiled walls. His brain ran a thousand miles per minute and his stomach was tied up in knots.

He was excited. He was terrified. He felt like he was in the front car of the Triple Dipper roller coaster, arms in the air at the top of the first plunge. Everything he ever wanted, his fondest wish that he barely dared hope for, was within fingertips' reach.

"What if she says no?" He muttered aloud. "God, I hope she doesn't say no." Her signals were strong, seemingly in his favor, but she'd been just as blunt in telling him she needed to slow down. Frustration swamped him. Betty Cooper had him flummoxed and tucked firmly in the palm of her hand. Reggie had never struggled so hard against his instincts before. He couldn't rely on his trusted, reliable formula anymore: Find a pretty girl. Chase her. Flirt with her. Spend a little time and money on her. Tell her she was different from the other girls. Get what he wanted. Give her a velvet handshake and move on to the next one.

Betty did dangerous things to his imagination and his self-control. From the moment he watched her rise out of the water, tee shirt clinging to her slender, newly developed body and looking pissed as hell at him for shoving her in, he was lost. He'd spent another three futile years chasing after Veronica before she hammered it into his skull that she wanted Carrot-Top.

Reggie never lacked a date for Friday night unless he wanted time to himself to think. His smartphone contacts were miles long, and so was his Facebook friends list. He had looks and swag, which meant he always had choices.

But all of them paled compared to her. It didn't take long for him to fall for her, even though he fought it. Where the other girls constantly praised him, she challenged him, argued with him, and dared him to reach for better things for himself.

"Eeeargh," he growled as he watched the swirls of water around his feet flowing down the drain. He didn't want to let her down or push her too hard.

Reggie stood in front of his closet with a towel wrapped around his hips, contemplating his selections. His hand landed on a red polo with a black horizontal stripe that Betty always liked and hopped into a pair of black jeans, appraising it with a critical eye. It was missing something... He glanced around and found the slender, braided friendship bracelet that she made him on impulse. She gave it to him dubiously, but he kissed her until she forgot her own name after letting her tie it on his wrist. Arousal flared within him at the memory of how she felt against him, her narrow waist easily at home between his hands, and her mouth, sweet, soft and made for him. He dreamt of that mouth.

 _I care about you_. That was what she told him the last time she pulled back. Reggie chafed at the memory:

 

"Reggie," she gasped. "Reg..." She broke their kiss, reluctantly, he thought, and stared up at him. Her lips were puffy and her eyes were glassy with passion. He felt a surge of masculine pride that he put that there.

"What's wrong?" he asked her anyway. He tucked a stray tendril of her hair behind her ear, so tempted to remove her ponytail holder and let it all down. It was too close to her curfew, and he didn't want to send her home disheveled. She caressed his jaw thoughtfully.

"I don't want to get carried away."

"Not even a little? I can't help you make up your mind?" An insistent voice wrapped tight in his Jockey briefs chimed in Come closer while you're making your decision. Her pulse was hammering under his fingertips.

"Your mind's already made up," she guessed slyly.

"It is," he agreed, shrugging. Devilment shone in his eyes.

"You're not worried we'll take things too far?"

"No." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "What's too far?"

"Doing it and then everything's different."

"Nothing will be that different!" He stammered, and he gripped her shoulders and leaned in toward her, staring into her eyes. "Is that what you're afraid of?" She shrugged and threw up her hands, and Betty tried to look away from him. The low rumble of his engine underscored their conversation, making it more finite and precious. Her eyes flicked toward the stereo's digital display. "So, what, you're afraid this will ruin things between us?"

"It's...I am afraid. I don't wanna lose you."

Damn it. Those words. They were his kryptonite. Reggie scowled slightly and shook his head.

"You won't lose me. I'm not going anywhere."

"You say that _now_." She sounded so unsure, and he felt indignant.

"Give me some credit, Betty."

"What if... What if you don't like it?" she insisted anxiously. She twisted her fingers nervously and her eyes held panic. "What if-"

He kissed her fiercely, almost pulling her into his lap; the console between them was an annoying barrier. She moaned with need and pleasure, and his fingers threaded themselves into her hair, despite his previous good intentions. His mouth...oh, the things he did with his mouth. Heat trailed over her cheeks, lips, jaw and ears, and his teeth gently scraped her neck as he bathed it in his steamy breath.

"I like _this_ ," he told her gruffly. "So I know I'll like _that_. Don't worry. Don't worry your pretty head, Bets. Don't worry about that from me. I want you to _love_ it. Okay? I want to make you happy. I _don't want_ you to be afraid." He kissed her between promises, and arousal warmed her belly. His gentle touch made little thrills run over her flesh. Betty whimpered when his fingers found the plump curve of her breast, savoring how supple it felt. "I'll still be here."

“Okay,” she agreed on a breathy sigh. “You feel so good,” she added. Her eyes closed in rapture as he tracked the taut, delicate cords of his neck with his tongue.

“So do you,” he husked. “You’re so soft, Betty.” He drew back from her and watched her pensively. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“No, I’m not,” she giggled, ducking her head, but his large hands framed her face, thumbs stroking her smooth cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeated. “Believe me.” He held back the errant thought that _I know pretty girls. I’ve known dozens of them_. It wasn’t the time or place. “You are.”

“It feels funny when you look at me that way.” She combed her fingers through the hair at his nape, feeling how hot his neck was, how his entire body radiated so much heat.

“Why?”

“I’m not used to… this. Just… having so much attention,” she told him, grinning. “It’s nice, just being with you like this.” She turned her lips into his palm and nipped at it, then nibbled the corner of his thumb. Watching her soft pink lips tease him woke the sleeping monster – who was he kidding, he’d been at half-mast since they got into his car – and he jerked to full attention when she drew his long index finger into the sweet, hot recess of her mouth. She hummed her approval of how he tasted, and her velvety tongue flattened along the length of his digit, stroking it, overloading his already tortured senses.

He was hard in seconds. “Betty… damn it. It… might be better if you didn’t do that.” He reluctantly jerked his hand away, leaving her looking dazed and disappointed.

“Sorry,” she said awkwardly.

“No. Don’t be. It’s just… too much right now. Let’s head back. Let me get you home.”

“Aw,” she pouted. She settled back into her seat and buckled up, and her hand lingered on the console. His hand reached for the gearshift, then he thought better of it for a moment. Betty looked down at their hands, which he’d threaded together, squeezing hers, before she met his eyes again.

“It’s okay, but I can’t handle much more if you want me to be a gentleman.” She nodded, and he met her halfway and gave her a quick peck.

“We’ll take it easy.”

“We’ll take it easy.” He backed out of his parking spot at Pop’s, where they’d lingered after the movie they watched, not wanting the night to end yet. He steered out of the lot, then held her hand again through the next three intersections.

“I’m not your first, am I?”

Reggie sighed.

“Would you be disappointed if I said no?”

“Not if you were being honest.” She watched the streetlights whizzing by in the dark. “Were there a lot?”

“Let’s go with a few. Can we not talk about this?” He felt flustered and hot and he cracked the window to cool his building sweat.

“I was just wondering.”

“There’s not much to discuss.”

“So, what would you call a few?”

“Betty…”

“Three? Four?”

“I thought we were gonna let this go,” Reggie sighed.

“We will. How about a rough estimate?” Her tone was accusing, but when he peeked over at her, she was smirking. He shook his finger at her.

“You… _youuuuuu_ … you’re just messing with me now.”

“Inquiring minds wanna know.”

“Nope.”

“Aw, c’monnnnnnnn!”

“Nope.”

“Spoilsport.”

“We’re not having this discussion. Changing the subject, now.”

“You know _my_ track record.”

“You’re still at the _starting_ line. That doesn’t count.” She pinched him. “Ow… quit it.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is if you tell me.”

 _Because I’ve lost count_. “Then you won’t see what the big deal is if we drop it. Baseball! Let’s talk about baseball! Or global warming. Damn, it’s getting pretty warm…” Guilt blossomed inside him, making him nervous and slightly sick.

So this was how it felt, he realized. This was him, paying his karmic debt for being Mister Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em. She kept ribbing him until they reached her driveway, and he was still guilty, flushed and tongue-tied after he walked her to her door and climbed back behind the wheel.

He still couldn’t wait to see her again.

*

 

Veronica’s earlier threat that she had to dash off evaporated when she saw the state Betty was in as Smithers showed her upstairs. “You look rattled. And you’re a mess. What time do you have to be ready?”

“Is it that bad?”

“No. No, we won’t call it bad… just a little… desperate. Okay. Let’s see what we’re working with.” Betty caught her reflection as she walked by Veronica’s bureau, and she shuddered. Her face was flushed and her hair was a flyaway mess from trying on and discarding clothes. “No time for a fashion show,” Veronica said gamely. “We’ve gotta pull out the big guns.”

“What are you thinking? And how much bail will you put up for me if I get arrested?”

“You know I’m good for it,” Veronica reminded her. “Hello? Remember who you’re talking to.”

“Sorry.”

“And?” Veronica held up her hand to her ear.

“And you’re freakin’ awesome.”

“And?”

Betty sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “And I bow to your impeccable taste and fashion wisdom, as they are unmatched and inarguable.” They’d had this discussion before.

“And?”

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Okay. Get out of that.” Betty kicked off her shoes and undid the buttons of her simple sleeveless blouse. “You still keep that thing, huh?”

“Hush. You’ll hurt its feelings.” It was one of Betty’s favorites.

“Right. Sorry. Nice blouse. _Gooooood_ blouse,” Veronica offered, petting the limp garment like it was a well-behaved toy poodle. Betty dropped her skirt and sat obediently on the bed while Veronica walked – strolled – into her closet. She turned left and Betty heard her opening up one of the panels in the wall, which was a “false front” for a closet-within-a-closet, which she nicknamed “The Vault.” All of her designer originals, some of which were hot off the sketch pads and runways, resided in their little hideaway, seldom seeing the light of day until Ron had a fashion emergency.

Or a really hot date with a college guy.

She emerged from the cave, beaming triumphantly, holding up the garment bag like it was a tablet of the Ten Commandments. “Ta-daaaah,” she crowed. She laid it on the bed and said “Take that tacky thing off.” Betty crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

“Uh…”

“OFF. You need a better foundation than that. Chop-chop!” She clapped her hands while Betty gingerly did as she was told, discreetly rolling up her innocent bra inside her abandoned, unappreciated blouse. Veronica reached into her drawers, the impossibly long, shallow kind like the ones in the back of Victoria’s Secret, and she extracted a perfectly folded, shell-pink strapless bra. She tossed it to Betty, who caught it one-handed while still trying to shield her nudity. “Wear it in good health. Protect it with your life.” Betty blushed furiously. “Unless you’re not planning to wear it that long?” she suggested blandly. Ronnie’s darkly glossed lips twisted. “Fess up.”

“I plead the Fifth.” Betty struggled with the bra, letting her breasts fall forward into it and fighting with the tiny hooks, more difficult without straps to anchor it to her shoulders. Veronica came to her rescue with a sigh.

“Are we having a dilemma?”

“If you mean are we having a heart attack and a potential shitfit worrying about all the ways I could mess today up, then yes.”

“Don’t worry about messing it up. You won’t. Let him worry about it. He has more to worry about than you.”

“You realize what’s on the table here and what’s at stake, right?”

“Sure. Mini golf,” Veronica muttered viciously.

“I hate you.”

“You need me.” Ron adjusted the bra from the back, tugging it into place and appraising her. “That’ll do.” She went to the intercom by her door and snapped, “Fifi! We need you, stat! Bring the spoolies!” *

“You’re going to miss your spa day.”

“Henri will wait for me. His tip depends on it.”

“How big a tip are we talking, here?”

“The last time he booked me, he was able to put a down payment on his swimming pool. It’s nearly finished.”

Fifi bustled inside and gave her a skeptical look. “No makeup?”

“Save her, Fifi.”

“I will accept this mission. It’s a worthy one.” She nodded at the garment bag. “Is that the Maneater?”

“The one and only.”

The Maneater. “Seriously?” Betty demanded.

“You’ll see why,” Veronica promised. “Makeup,” she reminded Fifi, who led Betty to the vanity and shooed her into a chair.

*

 

Betty made it home with ten minutes to spare. She was relieved to see that her father’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and she steeled herself. Her mother still hadn’t seen Veronica’s handiwork in its entirety…

Alice pulled open the door just as she was about to key the lock. “There you are,” she announced breathlessly. “Reggie just called. He said you didn’t answer your cell.”

“I’m just about to call him.”

“Aren’t you going to be hot in that jacket?” Alice commented. “Is that Veronica’s?”

“Uh-huh.” Betty tried not to blush or sound guilty.

“Your hair looks nice. A little more makeup than I’m used to seeing on you…”

“Just wanted something different. Fifi gave me a makeover.” More like a fresh coat of paint. Alice thoughtfully lifted one of her casually styled, loose curls and sighed.

“Gorgeous,” she pronounced. “Where is he taking you?”

“It’s a surprise,” Betty shrugged.

“Hurry and give him a call.” Betty was already sprinting upstairs.

“Got it!” she threw over her shoulder.

She searched her room for her purse, throwing in all of the essentials: spare lipstick, mints, her keys, cell… and one, last necessity. Betty dug into her upper drawer and rummaged through all of the neatly folded undergarments, feeling around for the small box. Heat rushed up into her face and her heart hammered with the urgency of tucking its contents into her purse’s interior pocket, zipping it shut. She crammed the box back into its hiding place and practically slammed the door shut, relieved she beat her mother’s climb up the stairs to tell her one last thing.

“I forgot to mention, dear, your father and I are headed out of town tonight. Your cousin Beth had her baby boy. We’re staying at auntie Mary’s so we can help out around the house.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s nice,” Betty mentioned through the door, trying to sound casual. “How long are you staying?”

“If you get back early enough, you can go with us,” Alice told her. “I was hoping you could cut things short, dear.” Panic flooded her.

“But… Mom. I’ve really been looking forward to today. Can’t I just go see them after they bring the baby home?”

“There will be other dates.” Crashing disappointment warred with annoyance in her chest. Betty swung the door between them open and shook her head.

“No. I want to go on _this_ one.” Alice frowned and her hand drifted to her hip. Her voice brooked no nonsense.

“You know the rule. You’re not old enough to stay here yourself while your father and I are out of town.”

“Can’t Polly or Chick stay with me, then?” Betty urged, grasping at straws. “Or can’t I stay at Veronica’s tonight?”

“I’d prefer it if you went with us,” Alice sighed. “Polly and Chick are going to meet us there.” But Betty saw her mother’s resolve weakening a bit. “Don’t you want to see your little cousin?”

“I do, but today was going to be important to me. Please, Mom? I’ll just stay at Ron’s tonight.” Her mother folded her arms and sighed, leveling her with a look.

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart!” Betty drew a hasty X over her chest with one manicured finger. Her heart was pounding, and she was bursting with excitement over her pending victory.

“No funny business. No overnight guests _here_. No parties. No _shenanigans_.”

“None. There will be _no_ shenanigans of any sort.” Betty held up her hands. “Promise, pinkie swear on a stack of Bibles-“

“That’s enough of that,” her mother said abruptly, giving her a look. “All right. Pack your bag for Veronica’s now, then.”

“I have to call Reg first.”

“Fine,” her mother sighed, rolling her eyes as she made her way downstairs. Betty grabbed her cell, but as soon as she keyed in her security code, she saw Reggie’s text flash across the screen.

Ready, Bets? Excitement surged through her veins and she felt slightly faint.

Definitely, she texted back.

She didn’t know how much more she could take, waiting for him downstairs in the foyer, three minutes felt like three hours, but she heard the crunch of tires in the driveway and the sound of music turning itself off with the ignition. She waited breathlessly for the sound of his feet coming up the walk, knowing her mother would chide her if she ran out to meet him.

That didn’t stop her from yanking open the door before he could knock. He smirked down at her a moment, fist still raised, and then his eyes dilated, roaming over her appearance.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. “Bets… wow.” His voice was low and hushed, wisely remembering that her mother’s car was in the driveway.

“Hey. Wanna come in?”

“That’s fine.” But he tugged her halfway out the door to give her a chaste kiss first. She pulled him inside and held his hand while she reacquainted Alice with him.

“Hi, Mrs. Cooper.”

“Hi, Reggie. You look nice. Got any plans today?”

“A little of everything,” he assured her. “We’re just gonna spend some time downtown, and maybe head to the beach.” Betty stared at him curiously. “Did you pack a suit?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Might go grab it now. I have towels in the car.” Alice’s brows rose.

“You’re dressy for the beach,” she pointed out.

“We’re heading there later in the afternoon.”

“All right. Sounds like you have a full day planned.” Alice sighed. “Call me tonight when you get to Veronica’s, dear.” Betty leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“I will. Bye, Mom.”

“See you later, sweetie.”

They headed down the front walk to Reggie’s car, and Reggie mimicked, “See you, sweetie,” in his most sickening June Cleaver voice. Betty punched him.

“Shut up, you.”

“You’re such a good little girl, Betty. Such a sweetie pie.”

“You suck,” she muttered, but she was grinning.

“You are,” he told her, egging her on as he unlocked her side of the car. “And hot. Did I mention you look hot?”

“I was hoping you’d get around to it, no,” she reminded him, but his expression made her face heat up. He keyed the ignition, then paused to reach for her, cupping her face for a smoldering kiss, fingers toying with the hair at her nape.

“The neighbors…” Her voice sounded a little desperate, then unintelligible as he sucked her lip into his mouth, and she drank in his low groan of need.

“Betty,” he murmured, “I’ve been waiting all day to see you.” They came up for air, and he licked his lips. “It was really… .really hard.” She nodded.

“Where first?”

“Food. Then a couple of other stops.” He gave her control of his stereo, plugging her phone into his Bluetooth, filling the interior of the car with Bruno Mars and the woodsy bite of Reggie’s aftershave.

*

 

He’d surprised her, driving past Pop’s and parking in front of a fancy-schmancy coffee bar that she’d always wanted to try. “Ooh,” she breathed. “You read my mind.”

“It’s nice, huh?”

“Looks… pricey,” she murmured as they walked past the chalkboard out front scribbled with the day’s specials. Reggie shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re sure?” Betty was fine with Pops, or shoot, even Taco Bell, not wanting to dent his pockets.

“It’s fine. Let’s eat. I’m starved.” He guided her inside with his hand at her lower back.

“It’s warm in here. Let’s get a seat away from the window,” she told him, noticing that the sunlight drenched the table by the large picture window.

“You could take off your jacket,” he suggested.

“I know, seriously. I forgot I even had it on.” She shucked the little cropped denim jacket and fanned cool air on her neck. “That’s better.”

“Much. Much. Better. Wow.”

“What?”

“Wow.” The word came out on a rush of breath. “Bets… wow.”

“We covered ‘Wow.’” But her cheeks flamed red, feeling self-conscious in the airy little frock, a short, flirty confection of aqua blue silk. The spaghetti-strapped halter neckline showed off her shoulders and slender, toned arms, and it was cut into a deep keyhole in the back, revealing more of her smooth skin.

“Legs,” he insisted.

“Okay, we didn’t cover those.”

“ _Legs_ ,” he repeated numbly, and his fingertip grazed the tiny strap of her dress, making her shiver as he pushed her chair in toward the table when she sat down.

“Ooookay.” She was beaming as he sat across from her and handed her one of the little laminated menus. “What do y’wanna eat?”

“You.” His eyes were molten sin. Her mouth went dry.

“Besides me,” she asked him sincerely, but mischief twinkled in her blue eyes. His hand was already resting halfway across the table, and she reached out to toy with the friendship bracelet.

“I can’t convince you to get back in the car so we can, um-“

“No. You said you were hungry.” He tsked in disgust.

“Damn it! I did, didn’t I?”

“So we’ll eat.”

Their waitress automatically set down two ice waters with lemon wedges, and Reggie ordered a buffalo mozzarella and tomato salad appetizer for them to share while Betty took her time with the menu. The café smelled delectably of coffee, pastries, garlic and olive oil, and lilting strains of classical music calmed the atmosphere and Betty’s furious pulse. Every time he touched her, it jumped in her wrist.

They traded each other halves of their sandwiches, Reggie’s roast beef for Betty’s turkey croissant, and he managed to talk her into a dessert of tiramisu, something neither of them had tried before. The espresso-soaked cake left Betty with a slight caffeine buzz and increased her jitters.

She left her jacket in his car for their next stop, the Riverdale Galleria.

“What are we doing here?” she asked him.

“Nothing much. Fix your lipstick.” Her brows drew together.

“Why?”

“You’ll see why.”

They were chatting, walking down the wide corridor, past standard offerings of Hot Topic, Foot Locker and a cutlery store, when Reggie steered her into a one-hour photo store. “What the…? What’s going on?”

“You look too hot in that dress for me to not take your picture,” Reggie shrugged, giving her a smug look. “And someone was a butthead and never gave me one of their school pictures.”

“My mom gave away all my wallets to my aunts,” Betty explained, but happy little fuzzies swarmed in her stomach. The girl at the counter smiled as Reggie signed in for their appointment.

“Two in this sitting?”

“No,” Reggie replied.

“Yes,” Betty countered.

“I didn’t plan on being in them.”

“I want you in them. You know you _love_ having your picture taken.” Her lips curled. He rolled his eyes.

“ _Fine_.” But he was game, picking the plain white backdrop for the first shot. Every frame was silly, neither of them as concerned with taking a pretty picture as much as making the other laugh.

*

The Riverdale Movies Ten theater was slightly chilly, making Betty wish briefly that she’d kept her jacket, but she huddled close to him in the dark, nibbling halfheartedly on the popcorn. She loved horror movies anyway, enjoying the chills that ran up her spine during every suspenseful scene. He snickered at her every time she startled or jumped in her seat, his thumb idly stroking her pulse. It was perfect.

*

 

The sunlight was blinding when they exited the darkened theater, even though it was later in the afternoon. “I’m not sleeping tonight. I’m not even turning off the lights. Seriously.”

“You were thinking about sleeping?” Reggie muttered incredulously. “We can keep the lights on, if you want.” He stopped her walk back toward his car and pulled her to him, crushing her protests and pulling a whimper from her, her hands palming his heartbeat. Her eyes looked up at him shyly as she pulled back, but they were still full of mischief.

“You’re so bad.”

They re-parked the car on the other side of the galleria lot, where a traveling carnival set up a midway full of ticketed rides and various junk foods. They perused the games, mastering the dart toss and coming away with ugly rabbit’s foot keychains for prizes, which they traded up for a homely stuffed Pikachu doll that felt like it was filled with packing peanuts. Reggie easily won the ring toss, baseball and bottle throw and penny toss games, but Betty beat him at the squirt gun races, which hadn’t changed since they were kids.

Just like then, now he challenged her to get on the Zipper. She didn’t hesitate, leaving the Pikachu by the chicken exit as they piled into the car. They took advantage of the close quarters and the relative – sort of – privacy afforded by the attendant closing the top of their car over them before the tinny sounding music began, signaling that the ride was about to begin. He tipped her face up to his and kissed her senseless, stoking her anticipation, reminding her that the day wasn’t over yet. He errantly stroked her leg, letting it drift beneath the flimsy skirt, and she yelped as the car jerked into motion, but his hand kept its perch, drawing little circles over her skin, then disappearing between her thighs. Betty shuddered as he found her heat, teasing the warm, nylon-wrapped nest of her sex.

“Oh, God…”

“Ready?” he teased, and she couldn’t tell if he meant the ride, which was swinging their car up off the ground and getting ready for the first end-over-end spin, or for the one thing they’d been planning for – dying for – since they woke up that morning. He stroked her one more time, and she felt herself grow moist, right before she was tilted upside down, so abruptly that she shrieked.

*

 

They ended their trip to the fun park at the photo booth, with Betty tsking over the price.

“These used to cost something like, fifty cents when we were kids. This is highway robbery.” Reggie shrugged as he fed a handful of singles into the slot.

“Get in.” He rushed her inside and automatically pull her into his lap once the curtain was drawn. “Smile pretty.”

She responded by giving him a wet willie, captured by the first flash of the camera. The next three shots were a free-for-all of goofy faces and umbrage, and he tickled her until she couldn’t breathe.

“You didn’t want _serious_ pictures, right?”

“Never,” he said solemnly. “Never, ever, ever.”

“Where to next?” She was still on his lap, with his resting on her hips.

“We’re going for a dip, just like I told your mom,” he said with a shrug, but his eyes were twinkling. She shivered.

*

 

“This doesn’t look like we’re going to the beach,” she pointed out.

“I saw ‘for a dip.’”

“You said the beach earlier.”

“Water’s too cold,” he chided her.

“And?”

“And it’s just fine where we’re headed.”

“So, where are we headed?”

“You’ll see when we get there.” They turned off of the freeway, back toward the usual exit Betty usually used to get home. She rested back in her seat and laid her hand on his thigh absently, enjoying how comfortable it felt to just be with him.

“You could move that hand up, if you wanted,” he suggested.

“I could,” she agreed, but she smiled at him impishly. “I think we’re fine right here.”

“Damn it!” he snapped, and he gave her a put-out look. She laughed outright.

She didn’t realize that they’d arrived at his house until he parked in the driveway, which was empty.

“Oh. Wow.”

“They went on a pleasure trip with one of my dad’s buddies from college,” Reggie told her before getting out of the car, circling it to help her out.

“Yet we’re taking a dip?”

“Not a big dip.”

“Okay.” She looked confused, but he merely unpacked the towels he’d brought along with him and took her little beach bag out of the trunk. Reggie keyed his way into the front door, and Betty was suddenly all nerves. The sun had just begun to set, and the fading light illuminated Vicky’s impeccable living room. Betty smiled again at the framed pictures of Reggie from when he was a kid, remembering him at those various ages, still amazed at the turn of events that brought them to this moment. She followed him down the hall, where he nodded to the guest bathroom.

“Go ahead and put on your suit,” he offered. “I’m gonna turn on the spa.” Her eyes lit up.

“I didn’t know you had one.”

“It was cold out the last time you came over.” She blushed as she remembered their impromptu “rehearsal” in his kitchen, the first time he’d kissed her, when he told her to just “go with it.” Reggie squeezed her fingers. “Don’t take too long. Just meet me out back.”

“Okay.” She was suddenly embarrassed as she shut him out of the bathroom and began to get changed. Gingerly she folded the tiny, fragile dress and laid it on top of the toilet tank and shimmied into her light blue, boy-cut bikini. She contemplated tying her hair back, but eyed it in the mirror, noticing that Fifi’s careful styling was still intact. She smoothed one of the curls hanging over her shoulder, gave herself one last look, then went out to face him.

Everything’s going to change after this. That thought haunted her, nagging at her, but she was determined that yes, she did want this, that she wanted to be with him, and that it had to mean as much to him as it did to her…

… didn’t it?

Well, didn’t it?

Her misgivings were still fluttering inside her as she came out onto his back patio through the kitchen door, where he was bent over, fiddling with the switches on the tub. “Hey,” she told him shyly. “It’s nice out here.” He faced her, dressed down in long board short-style red and black trunks, and his eyes were dark and hungry as they took her in.

“Betty.” His voice was low and rough, and he closed the gap between them quickly, pulling her to him, kissing her with so much pent-up need and passion that her head spun. She had no doubt that he wanted her, it was in his touch and the way he murmured her name into her neck, hands roaming over her soft, warm curves, plucking at her suit as the unwanted barrier that it was. Her moans were sharp and desperate, and Betty clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck, loving the feel of his hard, lean body against hers. He didn’t separate from her, waltzing them both toward the now bubbling Jacuzzi tub, where he hopped in, then gently helped her down into the swirling water.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”

“I didn’t know this was what you planned.” The rising steam made beads of moisture gather on his slick, tanned skin. He pulled her down onto his lap again, this time with no constraints on their intimacy, and he began touching her everywhere. The ends of her hair grew damp as she leaned her head back to give him better access to her neck, where he traced the delicate cords with his mouth. His fingers were splayed over her back, impatiently plucking at the straps of her top until she felt the neat bow she’d tied being expertly pulled apart. Her breasts bobbed on the warm tide of bubbles as her top half-floated on the surface, until Reggie grew tired with the knotted straps at her nape and untied those, too, and he carelessly flung the top across the patio. His palms found her and caressed the pouting, plump curves, fingers tracing their aching, rosy tips. Betty’s hands found their way into his hair, clutching the dark waves as he cherished her skin.

It couldn’t get any better, until it did.

His lips trailed a path of heat down over her collarbones, over her chest, and she quivered, not wanting to guess too soon where his mouth would go next, because it felt exquisite, and she made a throaty sound of need when his lips closed over her nipple. “Oh, God,” she husked. “That’s… that’s nice.” He groaned in agreement around the taut, straining little morsel as he suckled her, drawing her inside his heat. He held her captive, straddled over his lap in the luxurious warm water, and without thinking of what she was doing, Betty ground herself down against the hard, looming bulge beneath her, abraded by his shorts. His fingers found the edge of her bikini bottoms, slipping inside the spandex to probe her, and she felt herself threatening to come apart. “Yes, please,” she moaned softly.

“You feel so good,” he murmured into her neck. “You’re so soft. You’re sexy, did you know that?” She shook her head, but he nodded, kneading her nipple to hear her moan again. “You are.”

“I want to make this right for you,” she told him breathlessly.

“You are.” He contemplated her flushed face and glowing eyes, scraping back her hair from her face where the dampened strands clung. “Everything’s right about you, being here with me, Betty.” His fingers were still exploring her, finding her sweet, slick folds, and one of them slipped between them, priming her in time with him returning to her breasts, nuzzling and suckling them. She tightened herself reflexively around his digits, and he felt himself harden even more at the prospect of that snug treasure surrounding him, engulfing him, and it was hard to maintain his control.

Any semblance of it went out the window when she reached for him, insinuating her hand between their bodies and palming him experimentally. He expelled a harsh breath when she squeezed him through his trunks. “That’s it, grab it, please,” he begged, his voice rough.

“You like it?”

“I like it, I like it when you do that to me.”

“It feels good?” She continued to knead him, then found the small patches of Velcro that held the front fly shut, tugging them apart, freeing his straining, grateful cock. “You’re so hard…”

“You’re killing me!” But he closed his hand around hers, encouraging her to change her grip, to grope him more firmly, showing her how to ring him and slide her hand in even strokes. He jerked his hips into her ministrations, continuing to toy with her sex. They teased each other in to a frenzy of love-drunk, hungry kisses and searching hands, grinding against each other with the continually useless barriers of swimsuits between them.

“Reg… I need you,” she gasped. “Please.”

“Upstairs,” he grated out. It was tempting to dawdle there a few more minutes, when she was so relaxed and comfortable against him, and so willing. All it would take was a simple slide of the crotch of her spandex briefs to one side and one swift plunge to satisfy that need that was blotting out everything else, but he knew she wasn’t ready, that he had to do this right.

He wrapped them both in towels, bundling her against the beginning of the evening’s chill before he walked them inside, arms still snuggling her with every step. Reggie flicked on the hall light and guided her upstairs, which she hadn’t had the chance to tour on her previous visit.

“Your house is so nice,” she mused.

“Can’t say much about my room,” he admitted.

“I think it’ll be fine.” He led her inside by the hand, and she was pleased to see he’d made the bed. There weren’t any dirty clothes on the floor, and most of it was relatively neat except for a pile of magazines and papers strewn over his computer desk. His guitar case hung by its strap from the back of the door. The room felt like him, smelled like him, and she automatically imagined him in that bed at night, snuggled under the blue comforter.

“Now, where were we?” he rumbled into her neck, and she smiled in the dark.

“I left my purse downstairs.”

“We’ll manage without it.” He kissed her neck and slid open the desk drawer, extracting a box of Trojans. Betty smirked. “Let me dry you off. Don’t catch a chill.” But his mouth was already on her, hands caressing her alternating with rubbing her dry with the towel, and soon his heat consumed her.

He slid his hands into her little briefs, massaging her before tugging them down, where she shimmied them off, stepping out of them when they ringed her ankles. His trunks were next, pulled open and tugged down by her greedy hands. Reggie cursed under his breath as she found him again with her careful, but insistent grip, stroking the slick, rosy head.

They stood like that for a minute, flush against each other, skin on skin, and it felt like heaven. He backed her against the edge of his full-sized bed until she sat back on it, scooching back toward the pillows. Her body pulsed with the awareness of him, that this was really happening, and he drank in her sounds of pleasure as he bent down and nipped at her lips, then paused.

“God, look at you,” he told her huskily. “You’re so beautiful.” She arched up toward him as he slid down into her embrace, enthralled by her graceful nudity and her waves of wheat blonde hair falling down around her face.

“So’re you.” He loomed over her, unabashed, easy in his own skin. His body was perfect, except for one tiny detail. “What’s that?” Her fingertip traced a pale scar on his lower abdomen.

“Had my appendix out.” His abdomen jumped at her touch, and the mattress dipped beneath her as he joined her there. Her mouth was a moue of sympathy.

“Awwww…” She kissed him better as he leaned over her, moving the extra throw pillows out of the way so she could recline. He stroked her thoughtfully. “You always had all these freckles?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Don’t look at them.”

“I love them.”

“Goof.”

“Let’s count them…”

“Let’s not.” She picked up a pillow and tried to bop him with it, but his grin was wicked.

“Then let’s count…” he gave her a mock contemplative look, “how many times I can make you say my name.” He eased himself over her and everything in the room was blocked out by his silhouette as he kissed her.

Betty lost count after around ten, content to give up under his slow, thorough exploration of her body, heeding the insistent press of his bulk and addictive warmth. She felt his manhood, stiff and searching, nestled between her thighs, and his hips coaxed her, getting to know her softness with each deliberate grind. She met each thrust instinctively, arching and molding herself to him, feeling the temptation of a more satisfying union just within reach. His fingers spread her, teasing and dipping inside her, priming her. Her friction and the growing slickness of her dewy lips was pushing him over the edge, but he reined in his need to come, despite her closed eyes and slack, open mouth moaning for him to continue.

She heard the tear of a foil packet, and that roused her. “Okay,” she breathed, looking relieved.

“I knew what you were thinking.”

“Want any help?” She leaned up, bereft of his heat when he backed up onto his haunches and fumbled with the packet, pulling out the little latex disc.

“It’ll go faster if I-“ His words cut off abruptly when her hands wrapped around him.

“Are we in a rush?” she breathed over him, steaming the plump, straining head, which twitched up toward her mouth.

“Um… Bets…”

“Hmn?” she murmured, peering up at him through her lashes as she lipped at him, then flattened her tongue against his silky flesh. Reggie’s hips jerked sharply and he made an unintelligible sound. His fingers, nerveless, dropped the condom onto the bedspread, which she quietly took with her free hand while she held him in the tentative ring of her fingers and engulfed him in her velvety heat. She had no experience, no rhythm, but she still felt damned good, and she was making it hard for him to follow through with the main event.

“You… should probably stop,” he choked.

“Mmmnn?” She pouted around his flesh, if that was possible, and her blonde brows drew together. She let him pop loose from her mouth, and her lips were rosy and wet. “Why? You don’t like it?”

“Get it on me,” he hissed. “For the love of… just get it on me, Bets.” She began to position it. “Turn it the other way,” he insisted. Betty chuckled, then worked the tiny sleeve down his length in long, milking squeezes. His body stiffened and his voice sounded helpless and desperate. “Is it on?”

“Yes.”

“Then c’mere!” She was almost frightened of the look in his eye, but he pulled her beneath him, hands continuing their earlier mischief, and she was lost. Reggie teased her in spiraling, plunging strokes while his snugly wrapped cock buffeted her, rocking hard against the tiny, hooded nubbin, making her forget what day it was. She tried to meet his thrusts, aware of the little thrills in her belly and the tingling in her breasts. He changed their angle and pulled himself back, kneeling in toward her. He rubbed the head of his cock against her, barely pushing it along the damp, slick seam. She gripped his thighs, wanting to pull him closer.

“That’s… that’s nice,” she whispered.

“You like it?” His voice was a husky purr. He rubbed her straining clit with his thumb, watching her belly quiver. “Want more?”

“Please?”

“You like it like this?” He pushed himself in, another mere centimeter, just glossing himself with her wetness, and he lingered there, toying with her as he kept rubbing. His shallow little thrusts were driving her mad.

“Yes.”

“You want me?” She licked her lips, and her hands were gripping his legs, massaging the muscular columns and scraping him with her nails. She nodded.

“I want you.”

But he dawdled a little longer, wanting to make sure she was ready, and the strain was killing him. In the back of his mind, that nagging voice kept insisting that this was crucial, this slow build, ensuring she had the control, and he heeded it, until she scooched down closer to him and grasped his hips, sliding her thighs over his, and her hand covered his where he used it to stir her up.

“You can,” she told him. He felt nervous sweat break out over his flesh with her words.

“You’re sure?” She nodded, lips dry. They were both breathing raggedly and dazed with arousal.

“Please, Reggie.”

 _Please, Reggie_. Magic words. He leaned down and kissed her hard, lifting and wrapping her legs around his waist, and he pushed himself inside her, yelping as her teeth buried themselves in his shoulder. They both cried out, and he froze against her, feeling her shudders and rough, warm breathing against his neck as she tried to master the new sensations of being filled and stretched. Betty hesitated to move around the throbbing invasion, aching and burning with its unfamiliarity. Reggie’s mind reeled at the snug fit of her hot sheath. He tried to be polite, even though he wanted to lose himself in the moment.

“If you want me to stop, we can-“

“No,” she hissed. “No…” He withdrew incrementally, but her legs tightened around him and brought him back, making him groan. His erection faltered slightly at her initial sound of pain, but it was coming back, urging his hips to move. He adjusted her legs around him, where they were clamped like a vise.

“You’re sure?”

“It gets better,” she told him, as if willing him to confirm it.

“It gets _way_ better,” he promised, and his voice was low and delicious as he lapped at her throat. “ _So_ much better…” She moaned at his next little thrust, and then the next. Then she focused past the pain, feeling him, tasting him, hearing how he responded to her touch and the snug squeeze of her flesh around him. Her legs relaxed slightly, allowing him to align himself against her more closely and their bodies to caress every time he moved.

“Reggie…” She held him tightly as he rocked into her, bowing his head into her neck, and her body’s pull on him was growing and insistent, urging him to completion. His thrusts sped up, and he felt his muscles burn, a sweet burn as he watched her face, listened to her voice, confirming that she was his. She felt him stiffen and tighten inside her, making her cramp, and his eyes shuttered in pleasure. His muscles were taut, the cords of his neck standing out as he supported himself and continued his thrusts at an almost frantic pace, and he looked… so sexy, so lost in pleasure, and he belonged to _her_. Betty was breathing hard and twisting the sheets, crying out to him. “REGGIE!”

“Oh, God… I can’t… _Betty_ …” The momentum built up inside him, and she was snug and hot and soft and felt so perfect, and there was no way to stop the climax that rumbled through him like a freight train, building in the base of his spine and making him see stars. Ripples of pleasure made his hips thrust in short bursts, and Betty rode them out, tightening around him for the aftershocks.

 

They lay together, limp and spent while their sweat cooled and the shadows on the wall lengthened until they heard crickets outside. “I can’t move,” Reggie admitted hoarsely.

“Then don’t.” He felt her smile against his chest. They legs twined together as he buried his lips in her hair. “Thank you for today.” He jutted his chin down to peer down into her face. Betty smirked up at him.

“What part?”

“All of it.”

“Thank _you_.” Betty tightened her embrace and listened to his heartbeat as they slowed and grew more even. His fingers idly caressed her skin.

“I should probably be getting to Ron’s.” Surprise and annoyance warred over his features.

“Like hell.”

“Kidding. Just kidding.”

“Seriously? Do you want me to drop you over there?”

“I’m happy right here.” Betty made a mental note text her, anyway, to make sure they shared the same alibi. Veronica would throw a fit tomorrow and blow up her phone with messages, but the lull of Reggie’s warm, firm body was too strong. Reggie thoughtfully pulled the covers over them both and cradled her close, and they chatted and teased until exhaustion claimed them, and Reggie and Betty drifted sweetly into oblivion.

*

 

They woke in a mad jumble of mussed hair and limbs the next day, after much murmuring, snoring, shifting and stealing of covers. The buttery sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window, and Reggie yawned and stretched. Betty smacked her lips and groaned.

“Too early,” she whined. Reggie scrubbed his face with his palm and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

“Babe, it’s almost ten.” Her eyes cracked open and Betty squinted at the alarm clock.

“Shit. I’d better get to Ron’s. I have to get her dress back, and if my mom calls me, I’d rather call her back from over there.”

“Don’t let her give you a hard time.”

“She’s my bff. It’s her job.” His chest rumbled under her cheek as he chuckled.

“As long as she enjoys her work.” He kissed her temple. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Mantle.” Her smile was impish. She teased his chin with her fingertip, stroking the earliest beginnings of stubble.

“You’re glowing.”

“That’s your fault.”

“You felt amazing.”

“So did you.”

“Are we okay?” He stroked her hair and sighed.

“Okay, how?”

“You still worried that this will change everything?” He poked her. “I’m still here.”

“You are. Look at that.” She pinched him, and he swatted her hand. “And it kind of _does_ change everything, when you think about it. I mean, I’ve been in your room. That gives me cart blanche to come back whenever I want.” He shrugged and smirked.

“Fine.”

“And I get to borrow your shirts and watch your TV.”

“Those aren’t dealbreakers. But I get the remote.”

“That’s fair.”

“I get to borrow your boxers, too.”

“Then what do I get to wear?”

“Me.” He felt himself stirring beneath the covers, jutting against her in response.

“Babe?”

“Hm?”

“Tell Ron you’re gonna be late.”

*

 

Betty closed her diary and set it back on her desk before she collapsed back into the pillows. She laid back and opened up her contacts, finding a smug, smirking icon of a certain pigtail-tugging, snowman-demolishing creep grinning up at her. It was time to go get into some trouble.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is a gift fic for Honeybeez, a talented artist on my DeviantArt watch list whose Archie sketches I really enjoy. I haven’t forgotten about my Ethel story, I promise, but this has been plaguing me.


End file.
